


As The World Burns Down

by BrightParker



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - Fandom, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers
Genre: (in the end), Aunt May Dies, Character Development, Depressed Peter, Father figure Tony, Hurt Peter, Hurt Tony, Living with the Avengers, PTSD, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tom Holland is my Spidey, Tony Stark Has A Heart, hidden identity, slow, unmasking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-02-14 11:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 44,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13006857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightParker/pseuds/BrightParker
Summary: As the world burns down, Spider-Man is taken in by The Avengers from the scene of his aunts death to be interrogated on his powers and identity- but then they find out who he really is, and none knows what to do with the broken 15 year old kid hidden under the mask of one of the most powerful heros in the world.He's lost everything.//ON GOING //





	1. It Kept Burning

Burning.

They evacuated the scene, Spider-Man laying limp in Iron Man's strong, metal grip. The smoke faded away the further they ran. The screams dead in the air. The shouts from the masked form in Tony's arms echoing in all of their heads.

The air felt like it was still on fire and the light started to fade away, sirens growing nearer and streets seemingly getting smaller and smaller. As the ascent upwards and as far away from the wreck as possible began, the glowing fires of death seemed to crackle into just embers as the sky swallowed them up. But they knew it wasn't like that. 

It kept burning. 

\-----

The cold metal around his wrists was the first thing he felt.

Before he could open his eyes, he felt a surge of instinctual fear ripple through him and he felt like he was on fire. He gasped, pulling against the metal that strapped him down to the bed. Pain. Fear. Panic.

He shifted, letting his eyelids fall open and adjust to the bright white light spiralling into the room from all angles. It was a small room. A small white room, where he was strapped to a bed and-

Peter Parker gasped, a strangled shout escaping his throat. Oh God. He'd got himself caught. The one thing he said he'd never do to himself. Never. Rule number 1. 

But it didn't matter- everything hurt like lava was swallowing him up. His skin seared and screamed, and every second that passed seemed to fill his bloodstream with magma. His breathing was laboured. He began to hyperventilate, as suddenly a figure came out of nowhere and began to hold his shoulder. Harsh, strong hands pushing down, making him want to rip them away with every instinct. But he couldn't. Finally, and altogether, everything started to focus. His vision cleared.

"-hey, please. I'm going to need you to try and calm down, if your breathing becomes a problem I'm going to need to take off your mask, despite whatever Nat says-"

His mask.

"Oh God, my- my mask-" Peter suddenly let the words tumble from his lips in loud cry, sobbing tearlessly as his heart rate failed to decrease. What the fuck was happening to him? What happened...?

"Please, look at me. Just look. you're safe, you're in a private medical facility, you're being taken care of, your mask is still on-"

"Don't- you dare take it off," he demanded, gasping breathlessly in between words, struggling to form coherent sentences. Aunt May.

What happened to May-

"I won't."

The man's face was soft. He wore an expression of deep concentration and worry, though he had kind eyes and a non threatening look about him, complete with a mop of messy black hair. His voice was soft too, and deep. Peter's heart beat began to slow as he took deeper breathes.

"Okay, it's fine to panic. Oh God, we didn't expect this... Nat? Tony?- get in here."p>

There was a clutter and footsteps and a door opening, but Peter couldn't fully register what was what. He needed to go. He couldn't be there, with his mask on or not. It'd soon be taken off, then he'd be over. No Spider-Man. No Peter Parker- He was nothing anyway. Aunt May. No- no May, May...

"I'm not- panicking," He insisted. The man injected him suddenly with a clear liquid through his suit and he felt the pinch in the crook of his elbow, not hurting half as much as what he felt on the inside. The sensation began to seep through him, and the burning feeling began to fade away so much quicker than he could have imagined. 

His breathes slowed, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. His head in a whirl. His eyes on the man, looking down at him apprehensively, then the opening door behind him.

Multiple people burst into the room, rushing over to the bed he lay on, sending yet another rush of fear through him.

"Bruce, out. our turn now he's awake- we gotta talk."

They all gathered around the bed, looking down at him as if scared he might escape. He would. If he could.

The short, stocky, bearded man pulled up a chair first as everyone else gathered doubtfully at the end of the bed. Brown eyes stared into his own, the lines etched onto his middle aged face seemed to create patterns, his determined glare...

"Tony Stark?"

He rolled his eyes.

He barely said the name, it left his mouth alongside and exhale without thought. Tony Stark. Oh God. No, this isn't good, he can't be here. he can't. 

Tony swung himself around on the chair to face the huddle of silent people behind him. Steve Rodgers. Bruce Banner. Natasha Romanoff-

"I'm gonna need some quiet, you got that? All I know, all we know about this guy is that he's an amateur, based in Queens and most likely around 20-21. That's all we got. If anyone tries to interrupt while I'm conducting serious enquires then you can piss off, got that?"

Steve faltered. He didn't trust Tony. None of them did. He bit his lip. Natasha sighed deeply, so did Bruce- of course that's Bruce. The Hulk. This was insane. Way too insane.

Peter seemed to have forgotten to breathe. He panted, staring back into the somehow warm eyes of the man he used to look up to, and grimaced. He felt like his eyes were searing into his skull.

"What's your name?"

He spoke slowly, threateningly, as if Peter had done something wrong. Mayeb he had.

"Tony."

He turned towards Natasha, who was stood behind him, a hand on the chair and a sparkle of worry in her eyes. 

"Don't do this, Nat. shut up."

"No," she demanded firmly. "I heard him. I don't care if he's over 20, that's still so young Tony- I heard him scream and I can't- I- don't do this-"

"She's right. Don't make the guy take the mask off. Not until he starts to get plain uncooperative at least," Steve almost growled at Tony, as if warning him.

Tony takes a deep breath before swinging back round to face him. 

"Name."

"No. I'm not telling you."

He sounded about as brave as a mouse. The words came out high and breathy- they came out as Peter Parker's words- not Spider-Man's. He was already failing. He was letting this break him down.

Brave, Peter. Be brave.

Tony looked tired. Bags under his eyes were heavy and he stared at Peter as if it was costing him a lot of sleep. But he was still intimidating. Older. Bigger. Wiser. Stronger. 

Natasha's eyes widened, and Steve suddenly looked very uncomfortable. He glanced around nervously.

"You're young."

He swallowed. 

"Nice observation," Peter replied to Steve, his mouth dry.

"No, this is crazy," The red head suddenly announced, gripping Tony's shoulder in warning with a shake in her voice. "He hasn't even gone through puberty yet, this kid isn't 20-"

"Nat, please-"

"Listen to his voice, Tony!" Steve shouted, the words ringing in his ears. 

"Shit. Don't shout. Please don't shout," Peter found himself half gasping, focusing on the ache in the front of his head and the dull pain that he felt still skimming the top of his skin. 

They must have noticed Peter's slightly erratic jerks from the odd sears of pain and his irregular breathing, and this mixed with the conspiracy that he may be younger than they thought created an intense atmosphere. 

Boldly, Steve stepped forward. He rested a heavy hand on the duvet, staring into Tony's eyes with his stony, firey ones. 

"This kid got burnt in a fire. He's probably in a hell load of pain and if he really is Spider-Man then he doesn't need anything else to deal with. Let him keep his name for now. His mask on."

Tony grunted in mock amusement.

"So," Tony addressed Steve heatedly, "you want to just piss around and waste some time until he decides to tell us things? Cap, I swear to god-" 

"No, Tony," Nat suddenly shouted. Tony flinched. "I'm not agreeing with this until we find out how old he is. That's the bottom line. I heard him screaming. At the fire." Her face paled. "You did too. I know you did." 

The image was all too real in his head. It all came rushing back. The fire. The shouting and the screaming. The heat- Aunt May. 

It felt as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room, and Peter's body began to shake violently as all air left his lungs. Fire. Smoke. Light. May. 

All heads snapped towards him. 

"Let me go," he rasped, gasping and thrashing against the straps that held him tight to the bed. "Please. Please let me go- M- May- shit, please, I shouldn't be here, I- I-" his voice began to falter as his breathing became more erratic. 

"Take it off-" 

"No, he just needs to calm down, he can breathe fine-" He heard Bruce's voice cut through the thick air, loud and panicked and all of a sudden he felt the cold presence of plastic at his neck. 

"Do it-" 

"Please, just WAIT, I can talk-" 

"LET ME OUT. STOP-" 

"Bruce, NOW. " 

The plastic was tilted so there was a sharp sting in the side of his neck, and the sensation of drowsiness took over Peter and he went suddenly limp. 

The terrified and confused faces that stared down at him faded away, until he saw black.


	2. A Weak Smile

The next time he woke up, the pain wasn't so excruciating. In fact, the pain was almost gone. 

From his skin, anyway. 

The air felt cooler and his arms weren't trapped to the bed, his legs were free to move too. And though all the memories he'd relived the previous night were still fresh in his mind, he awoke fairly calmly, breathing in the fresh air slowly and letting his arms rest at his sides instead of tensing every muscle in his body. 

He watched the ceiling. It wasn't as white as before. Nothing was as intense.

Until he heard movement at the end of his bed.

Every nerve in his body twitched suddenly, and a rush of adrenaline disrupted the peace he'd somehow found. He flipped himself over and launched across the room in a fraction of a second. Violently, he slammed into the wall, holding on intensely with his hands and legs and looked around shakily for the source of the unwanted precence.

Someone was indeed by the bed- as he twisted his head to look back to where he'd sprung from, Steve Rodgers stood, leaning backwards on the bed frame, sweating profusely and looking extremely unsettled. Blonde hair plastered to his forehead and bright eyes staring up at Peter on the wall above him.

"You do that often?" 

Peter didn't reply. 

Though he was more than comfortable these days to even hang upsides down on walls for long periods of time, the blood rushed to his head too quickly and he began to feel ill.

"You okay? Can you- uh- come down...?" He asked carefully, as if Spider-Man might break his arm if he tried. But Peter knew he wasn't thinking that. Steve wouldn't be scared of him. Though it wasn't like Captain America, Peter thought. Maybe it was the possibility that Peter was a child that made him so on edge. Peter knew he wouldn't hurt an innocent person, let alone a kid, someone who didn't know better.

But he DID know better- Peter wasn't a child. Not anymore. He'd grown up more than any kids his age had, he'd experienced things that 90 year olds hadn't experienced in their lifetime. He wasn't a child. 

But no matter how grown up he was, he didn't feel very old in a small room with Captain America himself standing below. 

Slowly, Steve stood up straight.

"You're kinda freaking me out. Come down, okay?"

He didn't reply.

Steve sighed. 

"Look, we aren't the bad guys. We can tell you're not really having the best time right now- just come down, and I can check your injuries while Banner is out-"

"I haven't got any injuries."

Peter's voice came out scratchy and raw from sleeping for so long, and he felt as if his words weren't being processed before he spoke. Steve chuckled, folding his arms and shaking his head. 

"I'll be damned if you don't, kid. You ran into a burning building."

Peter winced. Steve seemed to notice. 

"I'm harmless. I promise. I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to. I'm not going to hurt you or take you away or restrain you- I'm just gonna talk. No taking off the mask. Just come and talk, and we can see your burns. We haven't actually seen you yet. We need to check." 

Though Peter wasn't feeling himself, he knew in his heart that Steve was right. He could trust him. He heard it in his voice. 

Very cautiously, he lifted a hand from the wall and pushed against it with his legs. He jumped to the ground and landed silently on his feet. Though he wasn't in much pain before, the motion of standing and being on his feet made every bone in his body waver, and he felt as if he might collapse. His vision started to blur. 

"Bed, come on."

Steve hurriedly guided him by the arm, bringing him to sit on the edge of the bed. He took deep, rythmic breathes, hoping that soon he'd be able to think straight. 

"Okay," Steve said softly, "do you trust me to help you out?"

Peter felt weak. He felt stupid. He sat staring at his lap, wishing Steve wouldn't talk to him with that voice- but he needed help. And he needed to trust someone. He needed someone. 

He nodded silently. As he did, Steve motioned for him to lift his head to look at him. 

"Can you take off the top part of your suit? You don't need to take off the mask," he added quickly, as Peter tensed. "I'm going to check the burns underneath. It's alright."

Without anymore pushing, Peter's hand lifted to his chest where he pressed, and the suit gave a short hiss and seemed to deflate automatically. It fell loose around his shoulders, springing away from his body and finally gathering at his waist. He felt extremely naked- not because he nearly was naked. But because now Steve wasn't seeing Spider-Man, he was seeing Peter Parker. 

"Thank you."

Peter nodded. 

Steve glanced over his torso, his eyes narrowing. Peters body was bright red, and areas where intense heat had attacked were slightly rough and patchy. But nowhere near as bad as burns like that should have been. He should have been dead. 

Steve looked back up at him in bewilderment. 

"Two days. Half way healed already. Does it feel okay...?"

He didn't seem surprised that Peter had seemed to heal almost automatically. 

Peter hesitated before deciding it was safe to speak. 

It was almost a whisper as he said, "No. Sort of. It's not that bad. I- I'm used to it, it's fine, I heal fast-"

"Healing factor."

He nodded meekly.

"We thought as much from the start, you know. You'd be dead otherwise. And aside from your panicking while you were awake, your breathing has been completely normal when asleep even though you should have had bad lung damage from the smoke. You got off lightly, kid.

Peter managed a weak smile. 

"Always do."

Steve was kind. He wasn't TOO patronising, or stern, but firm enough and a good listener. Caring. Patient. 

He gave a smile smile to him, one that Peter didn't return from behind his mask, but one he appreciated all the same.

"Do you need anything, some painkillers, your back bandaged-"

"No, I'm fine."

He looked at him doubtfully, but seemed to take his word for it. 

"Okay. Well, I think you should know that we don't want to hurt you. We are gonna take care of you, make sure you're comfortable. You're safe here, I promise. Safer than you would have been if you'd have stayed at the fire."

The fire. 

Peter pursed his lips, shaking when suddenly, the word 'fire' began to chime in his head, repeating over and over again.

The fire. The big corner fire, where stacks of offices were inhabited above, where a shop full of people laid below. Where May was, out late to grab milk for the morning, leaving the house that evening with nothing more than a 'see you soon.' Where Peter saw the smoke rising, higher and higher, and swung as fast as he could to the scene. Where he saved at least 25 people from the wreck that began to collapse.

He saved 25 lives that night. That's a lot of people- he would have been proud, if there wasn't 30 or more people left behind, one of them being-

"Aunt May."

"I don't-"

"Oh god."

 

He felt fingers at his neck. They weren't there- but he felt them, gripping at his windpipe, making his gasps more and more laboured. She was dead. Aunt May had died, and Peter could have saved her. He could have saved everyone. But he didn't. 

The fire danced in his eyes. 

"Hey- it's okay, please, calm down-"

A twist in his stomach, like a knife wound. 

"FRIDAY, get Tony. "

But he couldn't stop. He felt tears begin to collect as he continued to hyperventilate. She was dead. May. May was dead.

And he couldn't get her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this was pretty short! I hope you guys are enjoying this! I have a lot of plans for it but I'm pretty busy so chapters might take a while to come out. But they will! Leave me your opinions so far :)


	3. You Need To Breath

Peter's condition didn't improve as he sat, his lungs feeling as if they were going to collapse and listening to Steve shout down the corridor. 

"He's hyperventilating, Tony-"

"Jesus CHRIST, just leave him to calm down-"

"He's having a panic attack. He's young, I'm not good with kids..." Steve shouted out the door. His hand gripped the handle so hard that the vines in his hand popped out, and his face was flushed a deep red. Before long, footsteps could be heard, until Steve stepped back Tony entered the room. 

He still hadn't calmed down. All he could think about was May, all he could feel was the sensation of drowning. An indescribable pain that was nowhere but everywhere at the same time. He gasped. He tried not to start crying as Tony came to a stand above him.

"And you think I CAN deal with kids? Steve, I swear to god-"

"No, shut the fuck up. Get your head out of your ass and help. We know you have experience with panic attacks, at least make an effort."

Tony pursed his lips. Peter had hoped meeting The Avengers for the first time would be more rewarding. Instead, he was greeted with Tony Stark who was looking down pitifully at him hyperventilating, wondering if he was worth helping. 

At long last, Tony sniffed. Peter let out a low whimper. He screwed his eyes right shut, the intense pain in his chest not fading away. 

Suddenly he felt contact at his wrist, a warm hand closed lightly around him. 

"Right, kid. Just... listen to me. I want you to take whatever you're thinking about for me and chuck it out the window, can you do that? Clear your head for a minute. Think."

He tried. Instead of focusing on May 's face as it burned away, he tried to focus on Tony's face. He wrenched his eyes open and stared at him, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Tony was staring at him. His eyes were tired yet firm, he watched Peter's white eyes widen on his suit with his own deep brown ones. It should have been uncomfortable but it wasn't. It was reassuring in a way. He stared expectantly at Peter, as if he was waiting for a sign that he was doing what he was told. 

"Trying," he panted.

"Right. You gotta stop gasping. Try to control your breathing. Deep and slow, okay? Not gonna lie, this is a pretty good work out-"

"Tony."

"Okay, okay," he mumbled, looking away front Steve's warning. "Just... heartbeat. I don't know, listen to me breath. Sync up with that. Also, don't be afraid to tell me to piss off if this isn't helping. Sometimes it won't help."

But it was helping. The advice Tony was giving must have been somewhat valuable because Peter began to focus on his breathing and despite how much it hurt, and the pressure started to ease of his chest. 

"Relax you muscles. If you can. Being tense makes it worse. Just make sure to-"

"Tony, just fucking hold the kid."

His head snapped towards Steve. 

"Excuse me?"

Steve folded him arms and shot a glare at him.

"Drop your act for two seconds and let him listen to your heartbeat and make him feel comforted to some extent at least. This would be over way sooner."

Tony wavered, looking as if he was about to send a snarky retort back to Steve, before looking back at Peter. He sighed.

Peter was surprised when a firm hand pulled him into Tony's chest, and his head came to rest there. He breathed deeply as he felt his heartbeat vibrate through his mind, and he closed his eyes in the effort to shut May out and regain some control. Relax. Calm.

He didn't really feel very alone anymore. 

"So... panic attacks usually only last a few minutes. You'll be okay. Just... sync your breathing with mine, relax, think of nice things. You'll be fine. Promise."

His voice was low and comforting. Peter stayed there, his panicked breathes filling he silence until finally, he closed his eyes and felt almost okay again. He'd got through it. Somehow. He didn't know how that happened. 

It had been a full minute when it was over before anyone really moved. The feeling in Peter's chest loosened, and his grip on Tony's shirt weakened. When someone did move, it was Tony, standing from the bed sharply so Peter jumped. He'd forgotten he was there. 

"Right. This was fun. I'm out, I'll be in the workshop if you want me- actually, scratch that, don't interrupt me. Tell FRIDAY if something bad has happened. FRIDAY, want a full report on his vitals and his injuries in about three hours, meanwhile, get him some food so he can eat something. And get him back to me when he's ready to open that mouth of his. Got it?"

Steve looked as if he might argue with him, but decided against it. 

"Sure."

Tony shot a last curious look at Peter before leaving the room. 

They were left in silence. 

Steve unfolded his arms, and cautiously moved around the bed to sit by Peter. Company felt nice. 

"Hey." 

Peter didn't respond anymore than nodding once. 

Steve seemed to take it as a good sign, smiling a little and turning to face him. 

"You heal fast, kid." 

He exhaled slowly, bribing his head round to look straight at Steve. 

"I have a... healing factor." 

"That's great on your part," he chuckles. "Sorry about Tony. Isn't very tactful. But he gets it. It's not uncommon, you know. When I was in the army it was a common thing. If you didn't have your fair share of panic attacks and freak out moments then you weren't normal. I guess I was just lucky, but war affects people in different ways." 

War. He didn't want to think about war. 

Steve caught his discomfort, and made an attempt to fix it fast. 

"Okay, away from war. In general, in life, it's a thing that happens. No matter how strong you are mentally or physically. It can come down on anyone. I think Tony would be the last person people to be expected to have trouble with that. And trust me, he has trouble. People just need time to heal. You'll heal too." 

He let the words wash over him, and settle in his head. He was calmer now. His head still wasn't fully clear, nor did he feel like he could live another day, but it was an improvement. Like Steve said, time heals. He just needs time. 

A shaky breath. 

"Thank you." 

Steve looks back at him. 

"No problem, kid."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are pretty short, I hope you don't mind too much. I'm super excited to see where this story goes. Thank you so much for your awesome comments :)


	4. Back And Forth

Luckily, Peter was left for a short while, and for the first time, completely on his own. 

He found this to be a great relief. After his panic attack when Tony had left, Steve left too, reassuring him that he'd be safe and he had no reason to try to leave just yet. He'd promised someone would return in an hour or so.

There was nothing that Peter found to think about in that hour that made him feel better. It'd be a miracle if he did. All he could see when he closed his eyes was his Aunt’s own ones, bright and staring intensely back at him. Though this time, he didn’t feel the deep ache and pain that was present in his chest before. Now, he could think clearer, the pain was mostly gone from his skin. The air was clearer. But the pain had transferred to his head. May was dead. His last living relative. The only person besides Ned that really cared about him, could protect him, keep him safe. She was gone- and Peter fought back another surge of panic as he realised he’d never get to see her face again, talk and laugh with her and hug her, breathe her in. 

Because she was gone.

Where would he go? A care home? No way. No way. Neds? No- is that allowed? He had nowhere to go. As if he didn’t feel alone enough having to hide his alter- ego from everyone in the world, including his best friend. There was no way out. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go.

The hour dragged on so painfully that he thought it would never end. Since there was evidently no way out of the room, with the main door being locked from the outside, he’d laid down on his back, staring at the white ceiling until high eyes went fuzzy. There was nothing left inside him to feel anything. He couldn’t cry. He couldn’t bring himself to think of a plan. He gave up.

Until his head began to ache. He sat up slowly, the room spinning. He held a hand up to feel the material covering his face and sighed. 

Okay. There’s no excuse. You’re not Peter Parker now, you’re Spider-Man. He doesn’t lie around and feel sorry for himself. He at least does something, even if he can’t escape. You need to do something. Come on Spider-Man. 

After what felt like hours, he stretched, slid off the bed and let his suited feet touch the floor. Every muscle he moved felt like rocks, as if every movement took insane amounts of effort. The frustration built. 

“Just do something,” he muttered to himself, words scratching his throat on the way out. “Come on.”

Finally, he lifted his wrist, aiming at the wall he’d previously jumped up on. Determinedly, he shot his shooter, letting a rapid shot of web reach out to the wall and bring him with it. 

What would Spider-Man do? Forget May. Forget it all. I need to do something to get my mind away-

A side glance back at the bed told him everything. Ignoring the pang of hopelessness in the back of his mind, he leaped across to the opposite wall, shooting a web back to where he’d just came from. He secured it tight under his feet, twanging the line once to test the strength.

Back and forth he went, bouncing from wall to wall until the thick web was laced to create an area wide enough to lie on, nearly touching the ceiling. 

Though this exercise was most probably an unnecessary and pointless use of time, it proved to give Peter a deep sense of comfort and belonging, lying in his literal genius web formula in the suit that gave him a purpose. He landed in the home-made hammock, wobbling precariously before lying on his back and swinging a leg from off the side. 

It was a comfy bed.

Suddenly, a loud, monotonous voice echoed throughout the room, making Peter jumped and almost topple sideways out of the web-

“Spider-Man?”

He stiffened, clutching the sides of the web with his fists. 

“H-hello?” He stammered nervously, trying to sound somewhat intimidating. “ Who’s there?”

The voice rung loudly again. “I’m FRIDAY, Mr Stark’s AI he created, I control the facility here and cater to the Avenger’s general needs.”

The voice was female, slightly stern but with warm undertones somehow. 

“Right,” Peter mumbled. Talking to artificial intelligence that was created by Ironman wasn’t exactly making his anxiety decrease. 

“Mr Stark has heard thumps and loud noises coming from the room. I have been programmed to report any disturbances or anything that comes under the Spider-Man protocol. I’m sending details to Mr Stark now.”

“Great, thank you.” He rolled his eyes. “Exactly what I wanted. What- what’s the Spider-Man protocol?”

“Created by Mr Stark to ensure Spider-Man is under constant surveillance. Includes- keep Spider-Man in the med-bay at all times until Mr Stark says otherwise. Keeps Spider-Man in the building and under no circumstances will he be allowed to leave. Keep Spider-Man surveyed, if any disturbances occur they are to be reported to Mr Stark. Inform Spider-Man on the protocols put in place to ensure his boundaries are understood. Keep Spider-Man-“

“Okay, I get it. I don’t see why-“

“Mr Stark will see you now.”

“Wait, what?”

Peter jumped and twisted his head towards the door below him, which opened with a loud click. Fear swept through his stomach once again as Tony strode into the room, looking up at Peter in the tangle of webs who looked as if he might fall off.

He hesitated.

“Jesus, kid.”

“Don’t call me kid.”

Tony rested his eyes on the masked figure above him. He wore an expression of mixed amusement and annoyance that both played on his face and danced on his lips at the same time. Peter held his breathe as Tony took another step into the room, his lips pursed and his eyes scanning along the walls.

“Did you make this yourself? The web?”

Peter felt slightly overwhelmed that he was interested.

Then he realised Tony could only see Spider-Man. Then again, Peter Parker had made them.

“Yeah,” he breathed. 

The older man studied it a while longer, his gaze resting over the place where the web strained, but still stuck firmly to the white wall. 

Tony was a dick. Peter didn’t really know if he blamed him for that. He seemed arrogant and demanding, though at the same time, Peter could see where he might be coming from. If a random, masked person with inhuman powers was swinging around his city, he’d be a bit on edge too. But aside from that, Peter was half grateful for him. Natasha and Bruce and Steve had looked down on him, with that look. The pity face. But Tony?

Somehow, the way he spoke about Spider-Man made him feel less pathetic than he definitely knew he was.

Finally, he turned back towards Peter, his hands in his trouser pockets and his eyebrow raised.

“Right. You’re gonna have to listen.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

Tony continued, clearing his throat and pressing on.

“I’ve been speaking to people. Everyone thinks you need to go back to where you came from- to your parents, so they can know you’re safe. But they don’t want me to force you out of that mask. Neither do you.”

Peter tensed at the mention of parents.

“It’s a big circle. So, what we’re gonna do, we’re gonna have you stay here for a while. You’re obviously not worried about getting back to whoever has you or wants you. You’re probably not living with people anyway. You can't be that young, I can tell. Besides the point. But you have to think about talking. This isn’t our usual gig. Trust me."p>

Okay.

Tony folded his arms, watching Peter expectantly as if he was supposed to jump at the chance to be held captive in the Avengers tower when he’d just lost everything. He bit his lip under the mask, tasting blood and thinking about May. Always thinking about May.

Tony sniffed.

“Out when you’re ready. This isn’t any hotel. FRIDAY can tell me if there’s an issue, if there’s any problems and you put so much as a web anywhere you’re not supposed to, I swear I’ll get you knocked out faster than I can eat a tuna sandwich. Capiche?”

Anywhere felt better than there to Peter, while his insides were being screwed around with and he felt like melting away into nothing. Anywhere. Yet that was all he had. It was all he’d ever have.

He closed his eyes.

“Yeah. Capiche.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had such a busy week and I'm so tired. I've hit a bit of a writer's block where I have so many ideas but I can't get them all down.
> 
> It's okay, I'll be able to get along with this as soon as I can.
> 
> Make sure to leave a comment, they make me so so so happy, just comment comment comment. Thank you for the support! :)


	5. Behind The Mask

As the billionaire's footsteps disappeared away from the door, Peter slid silently down from his web of tranquility and dropped down onto the floor by the foot of the bed. 

The heaviness returned all too suddenly. It sank deep into his stomach and made him feel almost ill. Everything felt bad. He felt empty.

He raised his head, forcing himself to lift his body up and come to a stand from his knees. The room, though pretty plain, was equipped with the necessities. There was a door opposite that lead to a toilet cubicle that he'd never noticed before, and of course, the medical equipment that was set up by the bed. There was a mirror on the wall by the door that he caught sight of himself in.

Slowly, he walked around the bed towards the mirror. He didn't know what he expected to see- but there was an unexplainable fear that settled inside of him as he approached it. 

_Jeez. Only you'd be scared of yourself, Peter._

He stared into the clear glass, at Spider-Man. The mask that lay across his hidden features was darker than usual, slightly blackened and dirty, and the white eyes didn't shine. His suit, that he'd put back on after Steve left, was equally as dirty- though somehow, the longer he looked in the mirror at the rise and fall of his chest in the bold suit, the more and more brace he began to feel.

Until he decided to take of his mask.

A shaky hand reached up to take a handful of the material at the nape of his neck, and pulled carefully over his head. The mask fell limp in his grasp, and his hand fell to his side.

Cold reality hit him square in the chest.

The boy that stared back at him looked scarred. A whole side of his face almost glowed red, angry burns pulsing on his skin. He knew they wouldn't stay for long- they were already faint in places, healing over like the rest of his body, but they stung. He was flushed red, except for the bags under his eyes that hung purple as if he hadn't slept in weeks. His eyes were bright red, his lips dry, his face narrow and small. He looked half dead. 

His brown hair stuck limp to his forehead with the build up of sweat, having kept himself under his mask for so long. Thinking about that- he probably really needed a shower, but there wasn't a bone in his body that felt the slightest bit motivated to do that. 

The silence stretched on, as he continued to look at his emotionless reflection. He didn't know what else could be done, so he knew what he had to do. Go and find Tony, face the rest of the Avengers and somehow figure out where he had to go from there. Which absolutely terrified him. 

His fingers trembled as he moved the mask in his hands. 

Was it worth putting it back on? 

After all that had happened, even if he COULD get away without revealing his identity, would it ever be the same? No. It'd be too many years before he'd be able to face the streets of Queens as Spider-Man again. He'd let down too many people, including himself, and it was eating away at him slowly from the inside.

It'd never be the same. He didn't want to ever have to go home again. If he had to set foot inside their- *his* house, one more time, he probably wouldn't be able to hold back a breakdown. 

He could barely hold one back now. 

Determinedly, he grasped the mask in his fist. 

No.

_I'm done._

He ripped his eyes away from the mirror with gritted teeth, and made his way towards the door. Fighting back tears wasn't a problem. Somehow, they never threatened to fall. 

 

\---

 

Tony took a long swig of cider, stopping when he'd drained half the bottle and almost slamming the bottle down on the surface. 

"Dude. Calm down."

The evening had stretched on too long. 5 o'clock and it felt like 10, and the longer it stretched, the more Spider-Man took up his thoughts.

He groaned at Clint, swinging his legs round to face him on the couch and rolling his eyes.

"Is it just me or is it later than it is?"

"Tony, if you're on edge then go down and build something, I don't know. This kid's got everyone all snappy. You just need to calm down."

Clint addressed him front across the room, sat on another sofa on the other side of the table. Natasha sat with her laptop on her knee next to him in silence, and Bruce had just returned and was sat with Steve at the dinner table- they were both muttering in low voices.

It'd been a whole day since they'd brought the unnamed mutant back to the tower, and in that time, Tony had had an two arguments with Natasha (her winning both) and had an argument with Steve (that didn't end well for either of them). Wanda and Vision had left the tower for a while to leave the problem to fix itself, Rhodey had also left a week earlier than he was originally supposed to, because of reasons. While this had happened, Tony had also suggested Natasha, Clint and Steve leave while him and Bruce sorted out the kid- but they weren't having any of it. Natasha had rolled her eyes and had her third argument with Tony (ended in a fist fight), Clint laughed and pointed out he was the only one who really knew how to treat a kid, and Steve just smashed a few glasses and told Tony to grow up.

To be honest, he'd been slightly relieved when they decided to stay- after all, the whole situation was confusing. Though he didn't like to admit it, he needed all the help he could get. They'd been trying to figure out who Spider-Man was since he began to appear in the news months ago, and whether his intentions were good, or bad. There was mixed opinions in the media. After finding him, vulnerable and broken at the scene of the big fire in Queens, it was almost too good to be true. 

But what do you do when he's young? And you realise he's most likely the least harmful thing in the world? 

Tony spent the day biting his lip, pacing his garage, listening to his screams play on rewind in his head. They wouldn't have much to worry about if he'd been older, but if the kid was under 18 (which Tony still doubted), then it created a much bigger issue. He would have a family he'd need to get back to, and the current situation would be much more serious than it already was. Social services would be out for them, they'd maybe even have to answer to the police. They couldn't exactly diffuse the situation by revealing him as Spider-Man, which would somewhat be justifiable.

Well. They could, but Natasha already put Tony on his ass with that one. 

But if he was under 18, all anyone else would see would be The Avengers kidnapping a 17 year old kid from Queens. Not the best look.

Tony sighed. No sleep doesn't work any wonders. 

"I AM trying to chill. Want one of these?"

He motioned to his drink, and Clint shook his head.

"Too early to drink, man."

"Too early? Come on, it's _cider,_ I could be drinking worse than this," he scoffed. "Trying to lay low on the drinking."

"You always say that," Natasha muttered, throwing him a patronising look. "It'll really be Christmas when you actually mean it."

"Great way to make me feel motivated, Nat."

He took the bottle and drank some more. He never cared about what anyone had to really say. He could do what he liked, and he made sure he never did anything that ever affected him in ways that it could affect everyone else. Some people just needed to get their noses out of where they didn't belong.

The tense atmosphere was replaced with FRIDAY's voice.

"Mr Stark, Spider-Man has left the med-bay."

In unison, every head in the room looked up. Tony frowned.

"Where is he going?"

"Down the hall, sir. It seems he's headed to this room. Shall I unlock the doors-"

"Yeah, do that," he grumbled, sitting up off the couch. "Better get ready to-"

"Please don't do anything to piss him off," Steve said. He looked up from the table, his blonde hair messy from raking his hand through it so much. He looked as tired as Tony felt.

Tony sighed, but complied. He nodded, walking slowly over and sitting at the table, watching the door intently like everyone else. 

Who came through the door a minute later was someone no one was prepared to see.

"He is outside, sir," FRIDAY said, and everyone turned themselves towards the door as it opened slowly. Spider-Man walked into the room, with silent steps, stopping as he caught sight of the amount of people staring at him, mouths agape. 

Spider-Man stood at the door, but not just him. The boy underneath the mask.

"What the fuck," Clint breathed.

Tony gradually felt his heart sink deeper into his chest. He was wearing the suit, but the mask hung from a fist at his side and his face was- oh god.

He was so _young._ His features were small and innocent, his eyes were wide and lost. His jaw was prominent, so much so that he looked slightly malnourished. His skin was unblemished- except from the big, angry burn that stretched from his forehead to his chin on the left side of his face. But this kid did not look 20. Maybe 17,18. Like Tony had said. He didn't know whether to feel horrified or pleased. 

His eyes were bright, and they scanned the room, full of fear. They watered, they were blood shot- but there were no tears that streaked his cheeks. He looked tired. 

Everyone fucking looked tired.

Scratch that, everyone looked fucking scared.

The silence was long, until Steve whisper broke it.

"How old are you?"

The boy didn't answer. 

Steve shot a worried glance at Bruce, who shook his head. 

FRIDAY suddenly spoke. Natasha stood up.

"From the full scan of his body and vitals, I can give you an educated prediction of his age."

Natasha frowned.

"Only if he doesn't mind. He's-"

"Young, we get it," Tony snapped back. 

Natasha glared back at him, her red hair falling over her face as she turned to look back at the boy, who gave no signs of protesting. 

She sighed finally.

"Go, FRIDAY. Tell us what you know."

The kid stood immobile in the doorway as FRIDAY began to speak.

"It's quite hard to do a very accurate prediction because of his genetic mutations. His metabolism is inhumanely high because-"

"We know that. He's got healing factors and powers- move on," Steve interrupted.

"His weight and muscle suggests that of at least someone in their early twenties. His internal organs and development suggests he is in his late teens. The-"

"FRIDAY, skip to your prediction. Please."

After a pause, she continued to speak.

"The final prediction is nineteen."

"Shit. He can't be nineteen. That means I lost the bet against Tony AND Nat," Clint mumbled, watching the kid curiously.

"Shut up, Clint."

He still stood in the doorway, looking as if he could collapse at any moment. Just shuffling on the spot, his eyes darted around them all. 

Surely he couldn't be...

"I'm fifteen."

"Fuck-"

Clint was about to speak when Natasha's eyes widened, she turned abruptly on her heel and began to walk towards Tony with fire in her eyes.

"What did I FUCKING tell you, Stark?"

There is an uproar, and the kid stepped back as Steve looked as if he might punch someone.

"YOU'RE FIFTEEN? Oh my god, that's _young_ -"

Bruce looked over at Tony, as if he expected him to do something. 

Clint put his head in his hands.

Natasha kept shouting.

"Everybody's, BE QUIET."

The room fell silent. Tony kept the panic rising inside him at bay as he turned sharply to address Natasha, who looked at him guiltily.

"You'll scare him. I know, I was wrong. But we have to sort things out properly. I'm taking him to a room. Just... stay out of his way. Don't do anything stupid."

Steve looked as if he was about to protest before Tony stormed past him, up to Spider-Man who was still only an inch or so shorter than him. Tony was small.

"Come on, kid," he muttered, taking his shoulder and guiding him out of the room. Spider-Man looked up at him doubtfully, his mouth slightly parted in a subtle look of surprise.

"Sorry I was an asshole. Just... let's get you something to wear."

The kid had been putting himself in danger for 6 months- and he was fifteen? He seemed to be in that much pain, and he was fifteen? If Tony felt bad for being a dick, it was nowhere near how bad he felt for the kid for being Spider-Man, and he...

 

He didn't think he'd ever felt that guilty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I wrote this really sloppily, I'm sorry. I don't usually write in past tense or third person, and I'm sort of regretting writing this like that but it's all for good practise. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, feel free to leave a comment, I love reading them :) thank you for all the support!


	6. My Name Is Peter

The kid allowed himself to be steered out of the room without putting up a fight. Tony was surprised- he'd expected him to get mad or angry, maybe scared again. Try to leave or argue- but no. He was definitely acting the polar opposite of what an argumentative fifteen year old should act like. 

He watched the kid from out of the corner of his eye as they turned another corner. His eyes trailed the floor, his lips were slightly parted and his breathing was shallow. Tony bit his lip as the kid tried to sniff unnoticeably. He'd got this all wrong.

He had short, light brown hair, that only looked longer than it was because of how the messy waves fell in from of his eyes and how the rest of it was scruffy and unkept. His eyes matched- his iris' were mostly light brown, swirly into a deep coffee shade the closer the colour faded to his pupil. Wide and alert, watery. There were no wrinkles around them- no lines anywhere on his face at all, come to mention it. Button nose and thin lips, slightly pink cheeks. He was still a child.

Tony mentally kicked the kid.

_What the fuck was he thinking? Throwing away his life like that, swinging round the city fighting crime- Reckless, stupid-_

Tony almost laughed out of disappointment, realising he sounded like his father. 

Oh god.

They approached a room at the end of a wide hall that lead off to other doors. As they went towards a door on the left, it clicked open automatically and opened wide.

Spider-kid's head perked up for half a second before letting his head fall again. Clearly, he had high standards, if Stark Insdustries automatic door system wasn't good enough for him. Tony snorted.

Though, his head did shoot up when they walked in. The room was just a guest one- there were about five spare rooms at that end of the tower, but they were as big as half the lounge, with queen sized beds and big, open windows draped in thick curtains. This particular room was the smallest of them all, but still huge never-the-less. The built in wardrobe was set into the wall as a sleek white panel that could be pulled out, the polished immaculate marble floor blended with the bright walls. The bed had six pillows all stacked and a painting of the New York skyline hung above it. The bedspread and colour scheme of that room was royal blue, just simple, nothing fancy as far as Tony was concerned- but Spider-Man's face lit up with wonder as he let his eyes travel across the walls. 

Tony walked in, sniffing and sitting on the bed. 

"FRIDAY, open a window or two, way too stuffy in here. And some air freshener will do. Gotta keep it nice for our little guest here."

The way he said it might have been slightly patronising, and Tony wondered if he'd regret it, looking back up at the red suited figure in front of him, but he was too occupied looking at the luxury of a spare room he'd just walked into. Tony chuckled to himself.

"Do you... wanna sit?"

The kid's eyes jumped away from the walls and landed on Tony, wide and confused, as if he was seeing him for the first time. His lip twitched. 

"I'm not gonna hurt you. We just need to talk."

He narrowed his eyes.

Tony sighed and rolled his own.

"Look- I'll drop the act. The 'cool, billionaire, playboy ironman' act for a second. But I warn you- I hardly ever 'get real' so if I get too excited you better calm me down" he said sarcastically. 

The kid looked away. 

Definitely not the right approach to take.

 _Just be serious for a minute._

He sighed deeply, scratching his neck. "I'm pretty worried. About you. And... our intentions aren't the same as what they were at the start, so I'm hoping we can gain a bit more of your trust here. You need to work with us. We can help you. Come and sit down."

Tony could practically see the cogs whirring in the poor kid's head. He seemed to be evaluating the situation as if he were in a life or death face off with a dragon about to attack. It must have been a full minute before he lifted a foot and began to move silently towards the bed, coming to perch on the edge. Better than nothing.

Up close, Tony could see his hands shake and his slightly irregular breathing. No more of that, oh god. 

Tony turned himself and hoped he'd do the same. He did, slightly- his eyes rested on the older man's face and he angled his body inward, nervously. If Tony began to speak, it seemed he would at least somewhat listen.

"Who do you live with?"

Tony could practically feel the anxiety radiating off him as his eyes disconnected with his and flicked to the floor. He thought he wasn't going to reply, until-

"No-one."

He frowned.

"No-one? You live on the streets or something?"

The kid slowly shook his head.

"I... I lived with my Aunt May. She died in the fire. So I don't live with anyone."

His voice cracked, and Tony felt the weight of the kid's world crush his chest all of a sudden. Ah, fuck.

That explains a lot.

The kid doesn't look back up. His eyes remain fixed to the ground, his breathing picks up again, and his eyes become way more glassy than they last were.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Tony mumbles. "So... no parents?"

He shook his head.

"No relatives at all..?"

Another shake.

It suddenly wasn't unfamiliar territory anymore. Tony's heart sank, as he watched him pitifully. His own parents weren't around anymore- they hadn't been around for a long time. He didn't really have anyone, in fact. There weren't very many people in Tony's life he could consider family- if any at all. And at fifteen, to loose people so close- there's a pang in his chest- to be left alone- 

"I'm sorry."

There was a brief pause, before the kid raises his head.

"'S okay. They've been gone for a long time."

His voice was emotionless, yet full of grief at the same time. It shook, and the words scratched in his throat, but he didn't show any signs of crying, except from bloodshot in his eyes from obvious sleep deprivation. 

Keep it going.

"You still in school?"

A nod.

"Yeah. I'm not doing very well there at the moment."

Tony could tell that he was a talker. He didn't take any time at all to actually open up a bit and talk, and he was beginning to answer questions that hadn't been asked yet. He was already aware that Spider-Man was suppose to be a chatty guy. He felt pretty relieved that though his Aunt had just died, he still had the mental capability to hold a conversation- which was reassuring. 

"Got it. My school sucked too. School just... sucks. Anyway- I was thinking you can stay here for a bit. Until we sort something out. God knows the social services will be after your ass but- I don't know, we understand that with power, you don't really want to be around certain people...? Does that make sense? In other words, we don't want you getting pissed and webbing a random eight year old orphan to the roof in the middle of the night."

Tony could have sworn he saw a faint smile dance on his lips. Maybe he did. 

Cautiously, Tony rested a hand somewhat comfortingly on the kid's knee. He flinched- but he didn't move away. 

"There are clothes in the draws, I asked FRIDAY to grab some old stuff. You're nearly as tall as me so... that shouldn't be an issue. I'm really sorry. About your Aunt."

Spider-Man pressed his lips together, and nodded once. He didn't seem as on edge anymore. I guess that meant Tony had done the job right.

"I'll leave you to get sorted, okay?"

"Okay."

Tony stood up and put his hands in his jean pockets, offering a slight smile. It was returned from under a floppy brown fringe, uncertainly. 

_Should he do it?_

Tony hesitated.

"What's your name, kid?"

As he expected, he recoiled slightly, doubt enveloping him as his eyes flicked back to the ground. He fiddled with the mask in his fingers, and Tony shook his head.

"It's okay. I was being an ass earlier, I'm sorry. We won't tell anyone outside the tower, if you want to tell us. And... you don't need to, if you don't-"

"Peter."

Tony's eyes widened, and he looked up at the boy on the bed, who looked back at him. 

"Peter Parker," he mumbled again. Tony nodded, stepping towards to door and resting a hand on the handle.

"Cool. Thank you. You're a good guy, Peter."

He didn't reply, but he smiled very softly, the most broken, lonely smile that Tony had ever seen. 

He was about to turn and leave, when Peter's weak voice said,

"Thank you, Mr Stark."

"No problem, kid."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you hadn't already realised, this fic will primarily revolve around Tony and Peter's relationship and how Tony develops into a father figure for him. Obviously, the other Avengers will play big pets but this is primarily Tony and Peter :) thank you guys so much for reading, did you like this chapter? Tell me what you think of it, and leave some predictions or ideas for what might happen next :)) HAPPY NEW YEAR


	7. You're Like Me

When Tony re-entered the room, the group were all sat on the sofas in a gathering, talking heatedly. As the door swung shut behind him, they all looked up.

"What's the situation?" Clint asked feverishly.

Tony shrugged. He walked over to them, sitting on the arm of the sofa where Natasha, Clint and Bruce sat, all waiting for him to spill the beans. 

"He is gonna stay here for a while."

Clint rolled his eyes and snorted. 

"And you get to just decide that?"

"The kid lived with his Aunt. His parents are dead. He's an orphan. He can't go anywhere else."

A silence stretched over the room. Everyone seemed to deflate, taking in the information bit by bit. 

"Damn," Steve whispered.

"But," Natasha interrupted, her eyebrows knotted together in a frown, "surely he can't stay forever. He needs real carers, social services will-"

"Yeah yeah, I went over this," Tony waved a hand dismissively. "We will just have to see where it takes us. But for now, I'm not allowing Spider-Man, who's now a depressed underage orphan, to swing around Queens without any support, without anything to fall back on."

"Okay. I get it," she nodded, before turning to look at Steve. "Is that okay, do you think..?"

Steve sighed deeply, folding his arms.

"It'll have to be. Haven't got anything else we can do."

"I'm just worried about him staying here," Bruce pointed out from next to Clint, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "We aren't exactly the safest people to live with. We don't have much time either to be dealing with a child, we have work to be doing."

"Don't worry, he'll be my problem. I made the decision to keep him here, so I'll deal with it," he replied. He tried to say it casually, but Tony had began to feel a slight ache for the kid. Peter. Maybe it was how he reminded him of himself in a way. Maybe it was the age thing getting to him. Maybe it was the fact that he was almost three times younger than Tony, yet he'd still experienced things people don't experience in a lifetime. The panic attacks didn't help subside the strange protective urges either. Tony knew how bad they were all too well. 

In general, he seemed like a good kid. 

"Oh- his, um- name is Peter."

"You managed to get it out of him already?" Clint marvelled. Props to you."

Everyone else seemed surprised too. Natasha nodded in approval, giving Tony a rare smile.

"Didn't think it'll go down too well. You surprised me."

"I think I surprised myself," Tony muttered. "I'm going to bed." He stretched, yawning and rolling his shoulders back- he'd been awake for way too long, his body clock was fucked up to the max and he felt like if he were to even sit up any longer he'd pass out. He stood, heading back towards the door, massaging the ache in his neck.

No one questioned why he was going to sleep at 5. Most people were probably questioning why he was even going to sleep at all. There wasn't a person in the tower who hadn't noticed Tony's bad sleeping habits, and most had tried to help him or talk him out of spending hours in end in the garage modifying iron man suits, building new ones, pissing around with his tech. But it helped. With everything else. 

As much as Tony tried to reserve himself, he knew better. They could read him like an open book. 

So, he left them to their evening and hoped that the kid would sleep soundly, because even he had to face the fact he wasn't going to live very long if his sleep pattern looked like that. He was slowly falling apart. 

He could barely care to change out his clothes. He collapsed onto his queen- sized bed in his suite he hadn't even gone into for a week, inhaled the fresh smell of newly washed pillows and sunk into the soft sheets. Bliss.

"Would you like me to set an alarm, sir?"

"Alarm? Fuck no. I'm good, FRIDAY. Wake me up when everyone on the planet ceases to exist."

"Naturally, sir. Goodnight Mr Stark."

He didn't reply- he was already asleep. His chest rose much slower, calmer than it did in his wake, and he was pulled into dreamless satisfaction. 

The sight was so rare that FRIDAY almost withheld the blaring alert that awoke him from his peaceful slumber ten hours afterward in the middle of the night. 

But she didn't. 

It broke the beautiful silence, shriller than his usual alarm, accompanied by FRIDAY-

"Peter Parker is experiencing a nightmare which has brought on a severe anxiety attack. He is hyperventilating."

 

\-----

 

 _Heavy._

_Pressure._

_A trap._

Peter jolted in his sleep. 

The sleep _was_ good- better than good, in fact, because he hadn't slept properly in roughly 32 hours. He had found the spare clothes in the draws that pulled out of the wall- like Tony had said- and he'd changed into a pair of red plaid pyjama bottoms and a old black sabbath t-shirt that dropped over his shoulders. Though clearly old, they were fresh, soft- and they made Peter practically collapse onto the giant bed . He turned over, and began to snore.

He definitely needed it.

He couldn't even bring himself to think about his situation beforehand. Not even a though towards why the hell he gave Tony his name. It was probably really really stupid- however, Peter found that he really really didn't care anymore. 

So, he fell into a sleep, that was rewarding at first. Then it changed. 

As the night progressed, his sleep became less and less calm. 

His mind began to twist itself and before long, he was stood there again. In the twisted. disturbing, horrifying shadow of it all. 

_The smoke cleared. It was thick and clung to his body, clawing at his throats and blinded him for the most part- but it had cleared, just enough so that she could be seen on the ground. He pushed himself as hard as he could, so his muscles burned and a scream ripped from his throat. The figure got closer and closer until he was close enough- he was close enough, he could reach out to touch her through the unforgiving flames, just so that his finger tips brushed her shoulders-_

And _fire_. It was all burning. 

Burning. 

Falling down and crushing. 

Trapping-

Killing-

Killing

 

He shot up from the bed.

He pushed back against the mattress and sat upright in the bed as if he'd been struck by a hot poker, eyes the size of the moon and gasping for his life.

As he did, the door flew open at the end of the room, light flooded in, and Tony Stark was stood, red eyed and scruffy at the door looking around the room wildly. 

Peter couldn't even begin to process why Tony was there- he couldn't process _anything._ The smoke was still there- blocking his airways and grasping him with cold hands. He gasped and panted, tears springing to his eyes, the air closing in. Closer and closer-

"What-" he choked, his heartbeat in his threat. "Wh-wh-"

"Shh, shh shh- you're okay, you're okay-"

Tony hurried over to him, but he was a blur. The smoke made him fade out. 

His chest ached and hurt and- and he felt like he was going to die. A knife stabbed through his rib cage- somewhere- but where? He _felt_ it, an agonising pulse of pain that came from nowhere he could see.

His face became uncontrollable as he broke, the tears began to fall, and he sobbed through a sharp intake of air. 

"M-Mr Stark," he sobbed. "Do S-something-"

He wanted to say so much more.

But where were the words?

Strong, warm hand rested on his shoulders- a slightly familiar sensation. They were warmer, firmer, kinder than the cold ones that seemed to dissolve from around his neck, and his heartbeat leaped from the sudden contact. He winced.

"Kid, it's okay. I promise- look, just think about where you are. You're in The Avengers tower- it's one of the safest places on Earth, you're guarded by the Earth's literal greatest- I'm Iron Man. You're safe, I promise."

The voice was low and panicked, but it quickly melted and swirled around in Peter's head like a dream. His breathing slowed. 

"That's it. That's it- you're okay. You're safe. Com here..."

His head fell back down onto the pillow, then was suddenly pulled in close to someone's chest, so his ear pressed up against a heartbeat. A strong heartbeat- that was slowly than his own, but still relatively fast. 

"It's alright. Take your time. It's okay.

A hand behind his head, running fingers through his hair. 

The body shifted. Their voice was slightly panicked, out of breath. 

"You're like me. Some people want to be left alone. Contact doesn't usually help- but look at you now. Like Iron Man, like Spider-Man. "

A chuckle.

Peter breathed heavily, but slower. The position was held for at least five whole minutes- afterward his tears fell free down his cheeks, but his sobs had halted. The pain had eased, and he felt a sudden wave of relief wash over him.

"Keep breathing."

Okay.

In, out.

The heart thumped against his ear.

His eyes fluttered open fully, as time dragged on and he looked up apprehensively to see Tony Stark looking back down at him. He was tired and worn, and he could see every wrinkle in his face. His eyes were bloodshot- but they always seemed to be, his hair was everywhere and the warm brown eyes seemed to warm Peter through to the bone.

 _Tony Stark, comforting me from a nightmare. How insane is that..._

His breathing was almost normal. He sighed.

"What... happened?" He mumbled, shifting his head ever so slightly. He immediately wished he didn't- Tony moved away, sitting up off the pillows and turning back round to him. The space beside felt cold and empty all of a sudden, and he felt a deep sinking sensation in his chest. 

"Another panic attack. You're fine now. Try and get some sleep."

Peter's blood felt cold.

"Panic attack?"

"Yeah," Tony stood, rubbing a hand over his face. Peter wondered the last time he'd got sleep.

"I don't get panic attacks," He said, looking at Tony helplessly. "I don't..."

"You do. Had one earlier, too."

"...oh."

Peter may have not began to feel so very empty if he hadn't heard Tony's feet start towards the door as his eyes trailed to his lap. He looked up slowly. It still hurt. Not intensely. But it did.

"Mr Stark.?" He whispered.

"Yes?"

"I- I don't think I can sleep?" 

"Is that a question?"

He swallowed.

"No. I can't sleep. That was... really bad, I- can I go somewhere-"

"No. "

Peter blinked at him. For someone who looked so scared and so concerned earlier, someone who'd ran to his room and ripped open the door with tears in their eyes, he seemed so... cold. Cold now.

"You can try to sleep," he said simply, opening the door to leave. "I have to try. We all have to try. Sleep. Goodnight."

"Wait."

He looked back questioningly at Peter, a twinkle in his eye.

Peter wanted to thank him.

He also wanted to punch him, because he could have saved her. Tony pulled him back. He took him away, when he could have go to her.

He wanted to punch him because he was going to leave him again, and though he would undoubtably see his sarcastic, smug, face in the morning, he felt like if he was alone for another minute he'd scream.

He'd had too much of that.

"Thanks," he mumbled finally.

Tony left, and shut the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite proud of this one.
> 
> It might take a while to upload some more chapters. I'm going through a.weird period of my life where I feel very alone and lonely and I don't really know what to do with myself. Please comment what you think or comment anything at all , I love reading them so much and they make me so happy. I'm so pleased people like this so far, it makes me the happiest I could be, so thank you, I hope you're having a wonderful day


	8. A Million Miles Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was pretty long, wowcha. I'm not very good at character development because I usually go too fast or make it unrealistic, so I'm hoping that the situation with Tony goes slow enough for it to be realistic and you're able to connect with the characters and relationship. Opinions on this chapter? Leave a comment, the recent comments I've been getting have honestly made me so emotional oh my god, I used to write a long time ago but I stopped, and writing again is so fun and I'm so glad you guys like it :,))) have an amazing day, I'll get another chapter out as soon as possible, peace out dudes, tell me what you thought of this chapter < 3

Somehow, Peter managed to sleep through the night.

He sat in the same place as Tony had left him for half an hour, staring into space and wondering what had happened to Tony for him to become so much of a dick.

_Afghanistan and the whole kidnapping thing._

Ah. Nevermind. 

Peter sighed, rolling over and lifting the covers over himself.

He just didn't understand. Tony was a superhero. He was Iron Man, an avenger. Not only that, he owned probably the most successful company in the world that he hardly had to work for, he had everything he could ever want. His parents- as far as Peter could remember- lived at least until he was old enough to look after himself and there wasn't anyone significant in his life who he'd lost. He went to parties and drank all the time- Peter just didn't understand how someone who had everything couldn't care more about someone who had so little. If Peter still had it in him after going through all of that shit to be kind to people, then what issues were Tony facing that made him so cold? What could a big celebrity be struggling with if he had all a man could ever want? 

He felt so small. So insignificant. Maybe he did understand. Tony Stark was a billionaire, Peter was a kid from Queens. Spider-Man or not, he supposed that he wasn't very high on Tony's list of priorities. Yet Tony seemed to care to some extent. He remembered Tony's words as he held Peter close to him, how he seemed to know exactly what to do as Peter freaked out. It was actually really good of him. 

It felt as if Tony knew a lot about it. Maybe he had panic attacks. Peter understood that as Iron Man he may have gotten into some mentally scarring situations, but he seemed way too strong to be getting nightmares like that. Too strong, bold, fierce, experienced...

He seemed out of Peter's reach. Like something incredibly expensive and worthy that was a million miles away. Untouchable- he was _Iron Man,_ nothing could hurt him. Something out of a movie, through a TV screen. Yet there he was. 

He closed his eyes, and after a long time, he was drifting off into a sleep with no fire, or smoke, or screams. 

Finally.

He shut his mind off, away from the fire, from May, from Tony Stark, and slept. 

 

\-----

 

The morning finally came, flooding in through the gap in curtains in a bright beam of light. Peter woke, feeling every bone in his body ache, but surprisingly good. Refreshed, and very awake. 

He propped himself up again the headboard, rubbing his eyes and running a hand through his tangled hair. He yawned. The room was almost too bright for his eyes. The white was almost blinding, and he squinted at the walls to make out the digital clock that was reflected on the opposite wall in a blue light. 

It read 11:24. He looked at the number in disbelief, surprised he was even physically able to sleep for that long. He felt a warm sensation of pride.

Which was probably quite a stupid thing to be proud of.

It was quickly replaced by a dull, sad ache. 

It just settled in the pit of his stomach and hovered in his head, and seemed to stay there.

Biting his lip, he stared at the wall. 

Everything just felt so... _numb._ Since he came back, he felt so un-Peterlike he may as well have been a different person. Every ounce of energy had been sucked out of him, the enthusiasm and seemingly permanent rush of positivity had just disappeared. Sure, he had been pretty stressed and got upset easily- he had actually found himself crying at least weekly over injuries, lack of sleep, thinking 'I could have done that differently' and generally feeling alone- but for the majority of the time, being Spider-Man made him feel so free, so alive and just so... happy. If he could, he'd be Spider-Man forever. He'd absolutely live in that suit. He loved him. He loved himself. When he was Spider-Man. 

Even as Peter. Peter was just... happy. Enthusiastic.

But it had all gone. He felt empty. Hollow. Like something had been ripped out of him, and not just his life. As if Aunt May's death had physically cut out a giant hole somewhere inside him and ripped him apart. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing shakily. 

_Make it go back. Make it change. I don't understand..._

"Peter?"

He jumped.

"Yes?"

"You have been awake for nearly fourty minutes. Everybody is waiting for you."

The monotonous voice of FRIDAY echoed through the room, and made Peter feel on edge. 

He sniffed.

"Right."

"I will tell them you will be there soon."

"No, you won't."

There's a pause.

"Why?"

"Because," he said, "I don't want to be there."

"Mr Stark-"

"I don't care."

FRIDAY shut up.

He shivered, running a hand up his arm and feeling bumps. His eyes trailed to the back of his hand, where the skin was slightly red and shiny, and as it progressed up his arm, became slightly more textured, the skin irritated. 

Peter tried to shut it out- why his skin was red. He took the term 'burn' out of his vocabulary quickly, and just tried desperately to focus on the fact it was healing very quickly, and by tomorrow it would be virtually gone. 

It didn't even hurt.

 _It's fine._

Peter really didn't want to be alone. But he really didn't want to be with The Avengers. For some reason, FRIDAY's voice just made him feel so on edge and anxious. It was cold and monotone, strict and snappy. He didn't like it. He really didn't. And the more he thought about it, the more he realised how nervous he was about talking to everyone and how he _really really didn't want to._

 

He sat for what must have been another twenty minutes, watching the wall and listening to his soft breathes, rolling the soft material of the duvet in between his fingers to calm himself. He looked sideways at his suit on the bedside table. The sight of it calmed him a little.

The door finally opened slowly, so it didn't startle him. Peter's eyes narrowed and his grip tightened slightly on the duvet as the familiar, big man came in. Blonde hair swept over his sharp face, just dressed in trousers and a plain t-shirt, yet still so intimidating with his muscles and stern expression, and the fact that he was Captain America. 

He tried not to look intimidated. He watched him, feeling his heart skip a beat as he walked over to the bed. It was scary. He'd admired Captain America a lot, just like Iron Man and Black Widow, Bruce Banner and all the other amazing people that were so much higher up that him in the way of the world. A million miles away.

Yet Steve Rodgers folded his arms at the end of his bed, smiling.

"Hey, kid."

Peter quivered.

"Hi."

It came out in nearly a whisper. His head was clearer than it had been in days, with the amount of sleep he'd had, with the bright light waking him up, and it was starting to settle in how insane everything was, how Tony Stark had put him to bed, how he was in The Avengers tower, how Steve Rodgers had come to wake him up. 

And he didn't really know what to say. 

"You want to come and have breakfast and meet everybody?" 

His lips felt very dry as he stumbled to find words.

 _You're not weak._

"I- I don't..."

Steve lowered his arms, and offered him a hand.

"Come on. Get up, and we'll get you something to eat. I know you're nervous. It's fine, we won't bite, I promise."

"Will everyone be there?" He asked apprehensively.

"Natasha just left for the gym, Clint and Bruce are in the kitchen with Tony. Vision and Wanda are away for a few weeks, Rhodey has gone too. Just three, plus me."

"Okay." 

He reached for Steve's hand and let him pull him up, and gave him a small smile. He had to force it. But he thought he'd try. 

"Sorry."

"For what?"

"I don't know. Holding you up. Do you normally have breakfast this late.?"

Steve shook his head, smiling knowingly.

"We got up at 7, ate breakfast. But an early lunch can count as breakfast for a Spider-Man with a high metabolism."

That's kinda nice, he guessed. 

"Thanks Mr Rodgers-"

"Please, call me Steve, alright?"

He nodded. "- should I get dressed...?"

"Don't bother. No one else has yet," Steve chuckled. 

They left the room, and walked together down the long corridor that led into the big lounge area with a giant open balcony. It was so big that Peter could barely believe he was there. There was a big archway that lead off into an equally as big kitchen, with white and black tiled walls, sleek sides with shiny ovens and coolers, a bar, and big dining area where three people were sat round the glass table. 

As they came in, they looked up, and Steve gave his back a reassuring pat.

"Morning, Spider-ling," a loud voice called from the table. The voice came from someone barefoot in a black tracksuit, scruffy blonde hair and a kind face that Peter recognised as Clint Barton. He sat next to Bruce Banner, who was drinking from a big mug and looked as if he hadn't slept much. 

"Hey," Peter said weakly. They walked to the table and Steve pulled out a chair opposite Bruce. 

"Take a seat, I'll get you a a bacon sandwich- you're not awkward, are you, vegetarian or anything..?"

"No-"

"Good, I'll get you two."

Peter sat, feeling extremely small sat across from one of the world's most appreciated scientists and a man who could kill him in a split second with a bow and arrow from a mile away. Bruce smiled at him kindly, and Peter felt a little braver almost at once.

"Hey. I'm Bruce. That's Clint. Good sleep?"

"Yeah," he said. "It was okay. I'm Peter-"

"Yeah, we know," Clint chuckled in amusement. "And I also know that you happen to be that Spider-Man from Queens."

Great. The Avengers knew who he was already. 

It was probably bad how little he cared.

"You've got some skills, kid," Clint said with an eyebrow raised, impressed. "You're really young. That's crazy."

Peter felt himself flush and he fidgeted in his seat. 

"Thanks," he mumbled, as Steve placed a plate in from of him with two stacked bacon sandwiches on. 

"I hope you like BBQ sauce. It's all that's in the fridge at the moment."

"Well yeah, you got to be a fucking weirdo to not like BBQ sauce-" Clint said, excepting a bacon sandwich from Steve.

"Barton, language," Steve said sternly.

"Get outta here, man," he groaned, and Steve folded his arms. 

"The kid's only fifteen."

"Actually, I hear a lot worse at school," Peter cut in, a bit frustrated about how they were talking about him as if he was a five year old. They were nice. Clint seemed a bit boisterous, Steve seemed a bit overprotective, Bruce was quiet but overall they were okay. It was going as bad as he'd thought.

"I though I heard someone come in."

Peter looked over to where the voice came from to see Tony walking in with a steaming mug, looking sleep deprived and rough. He walked around the table, coming to sit at the end, dropping into the seat with a thump.

"Bacon sandwich?" Steve asked as he sat down next to Peter with a coffee.

"I'm fine. Just, er- had a bite. Did you sleep in the end, Underoos?"

Peter turned his nose up at the snarky nickname Tony had given him and shrugged. 

"Yeah."

"What happened?" Clint asked.

"Nothing much. Petey here just had a nightmare. All good now. Can you pass the sugar, Cap?"

Peter tensed. Why did he feel the need to tell them that? And why did he suddenly want to punch him in the face? He made it seem like such a tiny thing- but it wasn't. Was it...? Was it really just a nightmare? Was he really just weak? A stupid, silly, scared, overreacting child?

"Nightmare?" 

Steve's eyes narrowed.

Peter sucked in a breath. Steve had saw him experienced the same thing in the med-bay, so there was no hiding it. His eyes flicked nervously to watch them. 

"Yeah."

Steve glanced briefly at Peter before looking back at Tony.

"You mean anxiety attack?" He hissed quietly, as Tony took another sip of his coffee.

"He's fine."

"Tony, we are all responsible for this kid's well being. If he's showing signs of PTSD and getting bad anxiety attacks, that's not something to be taken lightly, and that's something serious."

There was a flash of regret in Tony's face for a moment. 

"He was fine. I'm suppose to be at a meeting in... what, two hours? Gotta have finish this coffee quick- it's over in another state."

"Tony, why can't you care a little more about the fact the kid is having panic attacks?" Clint muttered quietly, glancing up at Peter who's face gave it all away.

There was a pause, before Steve tilted slightly further away from the rest of the table to address Tony in a low voice. Clint looked sideways at Bruce, and Peter felt his stomach knot. 

"You know what happened to this kid, right?" He spoke quietly. 

Peter stared at his untouched bacon sandwich.

"You know what he's seen and what happened to him-"

"Steve, now isn't the time," Tony muttered. 

"When will it be time, Tony? It's never time for you. You need to understand that he needs you- Everyone here has different experiences. I know a thing or two about PTSD but I've never-"

"Steve," Tony hissed in warning, staring blankly ahead.

Slowly, Peter began to feel more and more on edge. He tensed, and his hands became fists without realising it. He felt so weak, so pathetic- yet at the same time, he felt important, as if what he was experiencing actually wasn't all in his head, that the indescribable pain he felt was very real and valid. There was something in Tony's stony expression that told him it wasn't just a nightmare. It also told him that he wasn't alone. By Steve's words and Tony's sudden dangerous tone, he confirmed that Tony had also had panic attacks.

"You need to stop shutting people out." 

Tony turned to stare at him. 

Bruce sighed and shot Clint a worried glance, which Clint returned with a shake of his head. 

"You need to stop- pretending that everyone will all be okay without you. That's what you do-" 

__

"I swear-" 

__

"No, Tony," Steve exhaled, his voice rising. "You pretend everything's fine and you disassociate yourself with people because you think you hurt people and you cover it up with this stupid act, your 'I'm too good for everyone-' " 

__

Bruce spoke this time, interrupting him as he watched Tony seethe in silence, pink tinting his cheeks and his glare fixed on Steve. 

__

"Guys, please, not here, Steve-" 

__

"The only thing," Steve suddenly yells, making Peter shrink in his seat, "that hurts people, is when you pretend everyone is better off without you! Because they aren't, there are people that need you. And you need yourself." 

__

Tony stood up suddenly, looking straight at Peter. His lip trembled slightly, his fists shook by his sides. 

__

"I can't believe you," Steve laughed almost maliciously, standing fast with him. "Look at that poor kid. Help him, Tony. Help yourself for once you pathetic-" 

__

"STEVE," Clint shouted, standing too. Bruce stood with him, but began to move towards the door quickly, leaving before Steve bit Tony's head off. 

__

And, probably before he got too stressed and his heart rate rose above a hundred, Peter quickly realised. 

__

Peter sat in silence, staring back at Tony, who didn't say a word. 

__

He stared at him for a long time, until Tony turned and left the room. 

__

"FIX YOURSELF, STARK."

__

Peter winced. 

__

Clint held his face in his hands, and Steve stood, staring at the door. 

"Steve... unnecessary. That's not like you. Don't... do that again."

When Peter thought it might be safe to look back up, he did, making eye contact with Steve as he turned round. 

__

"Eat your sandwich, Peter," he said quietly, but firmly, before walking away. 

__


	9. Trying To Understand

"I don't understand."

Clint and Peter were left in silence, Clint draining his mug and Peter staring blankly down at the bacon sandwich. 

Peter blinked as Clint leaned over the table, his eyes drooping and the smirk he had last time wiped from his face. He looked at Peter almost pitifully with kind, round eyes.

"I don't either. I'm sorry Peter. You should probably eat that."

It had all happened so fast. 

What happened? 

Well, if Peter was Steve, he would have shouted at Tony too. But he wasn't Steve- and Steve wasn't Peter. He was also suppose to be part of The Avengers- they must be together for a vast majority of the time, so Peter found it a confusing and painful thing to unscramble in his mind as to why it went from 1 to 100 so fast.

He looked back up at Clint, who hadn't moved from his position, his elbow on the table and his hand cupping his head, deep in thought.

"Are they always like that?"

Clint sighed.

"No. They used to be. When we first formed. But it stopped."

Peter nodded. So he'd roused that? What that his fault?

"I'm... sorry."

Clint's head snapped up.

"Sorry? What are you sorry for?"

He shrugged. 

"I don't know. Being here. Causing a problem."

Clint leant back in his chair and laughed. 

"Trust me, you're not the problem, Pete. This has been a problem for a long time. I think we've all wanted to have a good go at Tony, this particular situation just gave Steve the wrong push in the wrong direction. Don't blame yourself. And eat that sandwich, else I'm coming round there and doing it for you."

Peter didn't doubt it- Clint had polished his own sandwich off as the argument spiralled. And thinking about it, he was _very_ hungry. 

He took a big bite, letting the flavour of the smoky bacon wash over his tongue. 

How stupid of him to not have eaten it straight away.

"That's so good," he moaned, taking another bite. His mouth seemed to be working faster than his brain as Clint watched him in amusement.

"You really need to watch out for yourself, kid," he said, shaking his head with a smile. 

"I am. That's why I'm practically deepthroating this incredible bacon sandwich."

Clint gasped. Raising his eyebrows and wagging a finger, he tutted. 

"That is _very_ inappropriate. You're only fifteen mister, we can't be having that language. Cap doesn't like that talk."

Peter giggled, feeling heat rise to his cheeks.

"I am fifteen," he said. "Not twelve. Nearly sixteen actually. I guess things were different for kids for Steve back in his day."

"When I was fifteen I was helping my Mom in the kitchen, climbing trees and being a delight," Clint said, in such a way that made Peter doubt he was a delight when he was a child. 

"Well, I climb buildings. And I'm pretty sure I'm a delight half the time. And I help Aunt May all the time-"

Peter froze. 

Clint seemed to read the situation as Peter's mind started to whir. The knot in his stomach tightened and the sinking feeling returned.

"Let me tell you about something," he said quickly. "Something about us. Ask away. You have the right to know what's going on."

Clint offered him a smile that he really didn't feel he could physically return. It sucked. They could really be better off without him there.

He bit his lip, and took another small bite of the sandwich. He swallowed nervously before asking, "what's wrong with Tony?"

Clint blinked, and didn't reply straight away. Peter couldn't tell if he was thinking or reluctant to answer the question.

"I'm sorry," he corrected himself- "you don't need to-"

"No, no no, it's fine," he replied, waving a hand. "It's just a bit complicated. I don't even know the half of it."

He sighed deeply. He scratched the back of his neck and shrugged.

"They never really got along very well. I guess there personalities contrasted too much. Rodgers is very thoughtful and calm about things. Stark is sometimes obnoxious. Thoughtless. Both are quick tempered.

Peter almost laughed. Yeah, definitely quick tempered.

"I guess it's been building up. They had a big argument after The Avengers first formed, because Tony would ignore a problem, pretend things were okay. It wasn't just that though. He'd bring others down with him, he wouldn't think about peoples feeling and he'd just act as if he was too good for everyone. It got a lot better. Steve apologised for that, that's when they started getting a bit closer. Tony never really opened up, but he must have spoke to himself, because he did get better and you could see him making more of an effort."

"So did I make it worse?"

Clint looked almost sad when he replied.

"No, Peter. Tony made it worse. I don't know what happened last night with you and Tony, but Steve could tell Tony wasn't making an effort. He was ignoring the problem- a problem that he's actually had. And it's a serious one. But surprise surprise, with himself, he pretended it wasn't a big deal and shut people out. It's more serious now he's trying to kid himself with a fifteen year old. Steve looks out for the little guy. Just like you. He knows that Tony has the capacity to help, and Tony is the best person to help you out in that situation, let alone the fact he'd already admitted you were his responsibility. Steve shouldn't have shouted at him, there's a lot about that guy that we don't understand and it's probably not his fault. But he shut himself off. He did what he always does. He never seems to learn... It wasn't a nightmare, was it?" 

No, it wasn't. It was one of the most stressful things he'd ever experienced, one of the most scary. 

Yet he felt it was too weird describing that to Clint.

He hesitated before answering.

"No. It was bad."

Clint nodded.

"I can appreciate that. I'm really sorry."

"Don't be."

"But," Peter cut in, "Tony was good. He came in as soon as I woke up and he helped me. I could barely breathe, it was really bad. I couldn't focus or think properly, but he came in and he helped. He held me until it stopped."

Clint's bright eyes widened, and he looked at Peter in surprise.

"He did?"

"Yeah," Peter muttered. "But he was quick to leave. He wasn't very nice then. But he didn't ignore it."

"It makes sense... I mean, he should at least sympathise a bit. How did he know?"

Peter tried to think how. Come to think of it, he didn't really understand why Tony came in so panicked all of a sudden. He hadn't shouted, or screamed in his sleep. Had he? 

"Didn't FRIDAY tell you guys?"

"Nope. We aren't alerted of anything like that when we're sleeping unless is life threatening, which probably sucks because you were still suffering. That must mean Tony set it up for you. To be told if you have a panic attack or disturbed sleep."

That information made Peter smile a little. So, he was important to some extent. It was nice to think about. 

"I honestly don't get his problem. Still, after all this time. He's damaged, Peter, I'm sorry. He's a good guy. He just has some problems. Don't get yourself caught up in it. Don't get me wrong- I'm really glad he'd do that for you, it's really great, but it's more of an issue than you think when he starts to deny the problem and separate himself from you. Because it's happened before, and I don't think Steve knows how to get it into Tony's head that he needs to start giving more of a shit."

Clint spoke about the situation boldly, as if he knew a lot about it. Peter didn't doubt that he did- he lived there and had seemingly put up with their issues for a very long time. Peter just didn't understand why no one seemed to know what made Tony click. 

Maybe he was being really small minded. Maybe, though Tony was so untouchable and strong to him, he was much more human than Peter understood. It only made _sense,_ and he mentally hit himself for originally thinking like that. Stupid Peter.

A while later he went to walk back to his room, trusting his memory to try and remember the right way to go. As he passed through the lounge, he saw the elevator to his right, that was wide open and almost alluring.

He stood in front of it, running a hand through his hair.

 _Go back to your room. This will just get you into way more trouble if you decide to go exploring._

He hesitated, but felt his feet guiding him into the elevator. It was white too, the brightness of it made his eyes ache. He stepped in, shuffling on his feet and eying the buttons on the wall. 

Except there were no buttons.

Peter frowned, looked around, confused.

"Hello, Peter,"

"Ah, jeez," he gasped, jumping yet again as FRIDAY sounded through the ceiling.

"Where would you like to go?"

"Ah- um," he stammered, clutching the bottom of the Black Sabbath T-shirt, "I... where's Tony?"

"Mr Stark is in the garage."

"Okay," he said hesitantly. "Can- can I go there?"

"Mr Stark has given me orders to not let anyone in, however, he has given permission for you. Shall I tell him you're coming?"

Peter blinked. He was allowed into Tony Stark's garage? Why was he allowed in? 

"Yeah, do that," he said quickly, and the elevator began its decent quickly down the impossibly tall tower. 

"Mr Stark wanted you to get this message as soon as you could," FRIDAY spoke again as the elevator rushed downwards, making Peter's stomach churn. "He is sorry for treating you how he did and he wants you to know that your suit is safe with him. He's fixing and cleaning it and working on a few minor upgrades."

"Oh- alright."

Why would he be working on Peter's suit? When he had so much more important things to think about, especially after that? 

Peter definitely wasn't used to this treatment. 

Let alone being prioritised by Tony Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW CHAPTER ALREADY? I thought this chapter was important to get up quick after the last one, since so many people were confused. It's not one of my best ones and I feel like kicking myself for making it move so fast, but hopefully this chapter cleared the situation up a little bit. Peter's talk with Tony in the next one with make things again more clear. Steve and Tony have always not gotten along very well and the situation where Tony should have been helping a kid, but reverted back to his old obnoxious, seemingly selfish troubled self just made Steve very frustrated and angry at him. Of course, it isn't Tony's fault, but his communication skills aren't exactly top notch so no one really understand what's going on in that brain of his. I hope I communicated that a bit more in this chapter and it's a bit less confusing! There won't be as much angst anymore- expect a Steve apology soon anyway, and to see a different, more open side of Tony. I hope this was okay, I was a bit hesitant about the last chapter because it went from 1-100 way too quick but eh. I hope it's okay :)) have a great day dudes


	10. What May Would Have Wanted

_*AUTHORS NOTE- i want to clarify that im not specifically staying to timelines in this fic. Civil war didn't really happen- you can make of it what you want, just have an open mind. Most of the films up to Civil War have happened, though there will be some things off like characters missing or not being in the right place and for instance, TONY HAS HIS ARC REACTOR STILL. He didn't get rid of it , though the events of iron man 3 still occurred. There isn't a particular reason for this- mainly he hasn't had time and the procedure might be too risky, it's sentimental to him and it's precious technology, yadaya. Thank u lads let's get on w the fic*_

 

 

As the elevator doors opened and Peter was exposed to the inside of Tony Stark's garage, he almost forgot to breathe.

It was _enormous_. The ceiling stretched higher than the normal one, and sent beams of bright light down, illuminating the floors and walls, which were mostly made of concrete. There were dents and craters in floor by his feet, and bits of metal and screws everywhere. One half of the room was full with technology- big, metal tables that held machines of all shapes and sizes that moved around coordinately, buzzing and whirring. Computers lined the wall, big contraptions Peter wouldn't ever understand hung from the ceiling and ran along on wheels along the floor.

The other half of the room opened up into a an actual garage- there was a broad line up of expensive cars, though one or two were smashed up and older looking. There were metal plates on the floor, almost like launch pads, metal arms moving things around, blue glowing lights that created screens that hovered in the air, the almost comforting smell of petrol-

"Hey."

Peter snapped out of the trance to look over at a worktop. Sat wearily, with a soft blue glow illuminating the side of his face, was Tony.

"Hi."

He was dirty- he had black that stained his fingers and he wore a vest top instead of his usual smart attire. Not to mention his hair was a complete mess, so much so that it almost made Peter feel comfortable with his. 

He still looked okay. Just... different. Peter had only ever know Mr Stark from Stark Industries- the big, genius, famous star who lived in a penthouse and saved he world once in a while. But here, he seemed so normal. 

It felt Peter feel slightly more at ease.

He didn't even look hurt. Peter had expected him to be angry, or to shout at him. But he didn't. He smiled at Peter, before looking down again, running his hands fluidly along a keyboard that he could have sworn wasn't there before. He swiped a few hands in the air, moving blueprints and pictures and documents of text away to the side. They all just glided as if by magic. 

"You okay?"

Peter sighed. No. Not really. 

"Yeah."

"Good."

He watched Tony in pure curiosity as he began to move again, moving and taking apart shape holograms in front of him. 

"Have we finished yet?" He spoke lowly, so Peter knew it wasn't for him.

"96% complete, sir," FRIDAY said, "the material is nearly bound- however, sir, please don't stretch out the-"

"I can do what I want, JARVIS."

"Should I reprogram to answer to JARVIS, sir?"

"No, no." Tony quickly shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and sighing deeply. "You're FRIDAY. Don't ask that again."

"Yes, sir. You seemed to have used the reoccurring name in reference to-"

"FRIDAY, mute."

FRIDAY cut out, and Tony exhaled slowly before sitting down in the chair at the desk and burrowing his head in his hands.

Peter didn't really know what to do. He stood with clammy palms, looking at Tony, wondering if he actually meant Peter to come down in the first place. Maybe FRIDAY had got something wrong. 

He cleared his throat nervously, shuffling on the spot.

"...Mr Stark? Should I be in here...?"

He lifted his head off the table top, to meet Peter's eyes with his own, narrowed, severe ones. He seemed to think for a moment before pushing the chair away from the table and clasping his hands together. 

"Yeah. I just wanted to... I don't know. Apologise. Make sure you're doing okay. I don't know. I'm shit with this stuff."

Hopefully, Peter looked at him run a scarred hand through his hair, wondering if he'd actually heard him correctly. So, it wasn't a mistake. That's a first. Someone actually wanted Peter. For some reason.

"Right."

Tony stared down at the floor, his hand to his face, in seemingly deep thought before addressing him again.

"I'm sorry. You don't deserve to be part of that."

Peter shrugged.

"I don't know. Sorry for starting it."

Tony frowned at the boy, looking up nervously at him under a mop of brown hair.

"You didn't do anything," he said, simply. "There's stuff going on. I... it'll be sorted. Just... yeah. I'm going to apologise to Steve. I'm sorry. Oh, and I grabbed your suit from the room. No need to freak" he added quickly as Peter's head perked up. "Just thought I'd fix it. Didn't take long. Because of the... yeah. I don't know- I fixed it, cleaned it. So there you go. it's here."

He rolled his chair backwards, motioning haphazardly to the table. Peter walked up to it and felt almost relieved as the slightest twinge of happiness pulled at his chest. At least something was in there.

The sight felt so familiar and comforting. His suit, finally that bright red and blue again. No scorch marks, no tear to be seen. Folded neatly, the pattern bold against the bright colours and making the spider in the middle pop out. His suit.

With careful hands, he approached it, picking up it and running his right hand over the new material. He wanted to smile. It was bright, new, and perfect. Just like Spider-Man. Right? He almost laughed at himself.

He found himself sniffing as he laid it back down, smoothing down the red spandex and taking a steady step away. 

"Good as new," Tony mumbled.

He spun around to face him, taking in his weary expression and his arms that were folded together tightly. A hint of doubt in his eyes.

"Thank you, Mr Stark."

"Don't mention it."

It really was a cool thing to do for him. Especially after what had happened. 

"You gonna sit?"

Tony eyed the chair by his, also on wheels. Peter hesitated. He didn't really want to stay. He felt too tired to stay, to care. Not to mention Tony was scary when he wanted to be, and he didn't really want to talk to him, and-"

"Kid? I'm not a mind reader, sorry to disappoint."

"Okay."

He pulled up the chair, sitting down and sliding slightly closer to Tony's work desk. He leant over Peter to grab something or other- looked like a slightly more high tech, electronic screwdriver- and pulled a red metal contraption from the side, adjusting his elbow and beginning to tinker with it. Though he was a very intelligent kid, Peter couldn't even begin to comprehend what Tony was doing- though he figured it was to do with his suit. Metal clicked and the inside of it whirred and smoked slightly. 

"So. Did you make the suit, Pete?" He asked, not looking up from his work.

"Ah- no. Sort of. It's complicated."

"Try me."

Peter wasn't sure he wanted to talk to him. He still didn't know Tony very well at all. He knew he was rich. Famous. He was Iron Man. He knew he'd looked up to him his whole life- and the shock of it hadn't really settled in Peter didn't think it ever would. He was in too much shock to care when they first met. He still was. He felt too empty to care that he was in Tony Stark's garage, and he'd just cleaned his suit, and he was in front of him, working on his own infamous suit of armour. In fact, he cared even less because of how little care Tony had showed towards him.

Well. It was debatable. Peter felt a twinge of guilt thinking about it- he'd actually tried to help him a lot, and Peter saw the worry shine in his eyes on numerous occasions regarding his safety. So, he supposed he wasn't as bad as he thought after all.

But it didn't take away from that fact he wanted to be alone. Being with people almost drained him. He was tired. He felt dead. There were so many thought packed away he'd saved to handle for another day- _Where will I go after this? When will they get fed up of me? Why can't I have parents? Why can't I be normal? Why did she have to die? Why is Tony Stark being nice to me? Why does no one else care? Why is the world so shit? Why am I always alone? Is this disrespectful to Uncle Ben? To May? To put them in the back of my head where I don't need to think about them, making a mental effort not to think about them? Why does everything hurt? Why can't I die. Why can't I be the one to-_

"Peter?"

He let out a shuddering breath he didn't realise he'd been holding in as Tony looked up with sharp eyes and a concerned look. 

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"You don't need to talk if you don't want to," Tony told him, his voice suddenly much softer than Peter had ever heard it. "It's... hard. Just take your time."

He looked back to what he was doing with his hands.

Peter sat with his hands trembling in his lap, his heart thumping against his ribcage.

_Normal human interaction. It's fine. Just talk about the fucking suit._

"The suit-" he began, trying to keep his voice steady, "is made from a material I managed to get hold of. I changed it a bit, made some adjustments, and- and, ah, I got help from a friend. They work with textiles and technology so they helped actually make it. He was my neighbour, moved away for job opportunities, I don't see him anymore."

A small smile played on Tony's lips. He didn't break his strong eye contact with the glowing light of the machine, but he made an effort with his expression to clearly show he'd hung on to every word. 

It was kind of nice. Peter didn't feel as if he was forcing anything out of him.

"He has some skills. So do you."

"Thank you."

"Does he know you're Spider-Man?"

"They know that I 'know' Spider-Man. I made up a story. I trust him anyway."

He nodded.

There was a long, but somehow comfortable silence. The effort of talking felt like it was taking years off his life, but at the same time, it was also lifting a big weight from Peter's chest. Tony looked up after a good few minutes, as if to almost test the atmosphere before speaking. He sighed, leaning back in the chair, dim blue light shining in his eyes and casting intense shadows onto his face. 

"I could have been like you."

"Like what.?"

"Undercover. It's funny. I actually contemplated it. I half wish I contemplated it more. Being undercover has its big perks. You get to live two completely different lives without them colliding. Like a fresh start to live life a different way and be someone new."

Peter nodded. He got that way too much.

"However-" he kicked his legs up on the table and folded his arms. "It means you get just about zero credit for anything."

A short silence.

"Which is why," Tony smiled softly, "I think you're great. You do what you do for nothing. I think you have to realise that you're one of the type of people the world needs more of."

It was a good few seconds of bliss that made Peter's cheeks glow red and a smile to turn up the corners of his mouth, before everything sunk again and he started to doubt Tony's every word. He stared plainly at the same spot on Tony's shirt, right in the centre, where what Peter knew was the arc reactor shone through the material. The glow was sort of mesmerising and it made Peter space out, and he slowly sunk further and further into a void of self depreciation and fear. 

"Then, the first press conference I had after the stuff about Iron Man came out, after Afghanistan, after all of that," he pressed on, "you know what I said? Mr 'Let's go undercover?' "

Peter blinked up at him.

" 'The truth is... I am Iron Man.' "

Peter almost laughed. It almost felt ridiculous. He sighed deeply, composing himself, looking hard at Tony, trying to find something deeper he could understand in his humoured features. 

Tony shook his head in despair. 

"Peter?"

He hoped the shift of his gaze would be enough to show him he was listening.

Tony hesitated, biting his lip.

"I'm not perfect. There's a reason I couldn't keep that to myself. I had to let the world know I was Iron Man. It's because I'm selfish. Arrogant. Bigheaded. I wanted that attention. It's what I craved- validation, wanting to be something bigger. Then there's people like you. Out of the kindness of your own heart, you do this stuff. Do you get how much that means to people?"

Peter doubted he could muster up and words to speak even if he wanted to. He sat, rock still in his seat, following Tony's every word as the older man pressed his lips together and closed his eyes.

"I want to be better for people, especially for you. Because no fifteen year old kid from Queens who's spent their life doing nothing but risking their life helping people and expecting nothing in return deserves to be left alone with a wreck like me."

A beat.

For a split second, Peter saw a glaze in Tony's eyes as he turned his head quickly and rubbed something from his cheek. But as quickly as he'd seen it, it was gone, the mask sliding back over his face as rapidly as it had left and he was looking back at Tony Stark. 

He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to feel.

Tony stood carefully, tossing the screwdriver he was holding to the other side of the room. Peter winced.

"Sorry. I don't know if that made sense. I'll rephrase."

The totally sober expression that Tony looked at him with then made Peter's heart flood with something other than pain. Almost pride. Did he really think of Peter in this way? He truly did? 

"Don't be scared. Don't be afraid. You don't need to be alone. Not anymore. And you are not worthless. You are not unwanted. And you aren't alone. I understand."

Staring straight back into Tony's dark, deep chocolate eyes that almost quivered made Peter stirr, like a physical wave had rushed through him and left behind the tiny fragmented pieces of hope he'd been missing since he woke up in the med-bay with May's eyes fresh in his head. He didn't really believe him. It made no sense. Nothing did anymore. No one stayed around or bothered to care- now suddenly he was, Tony...? 

But in that moment, Peter didn't care. He let the mechanics hands hold his shoulders and his eyes stare back into his own, and he tried with all he had inside him to believe him. 

"I'll try," his voice cracked. 

He knew by his crestfallen expression that Tony knew what he was talking about.

It's not something that can be done. Not straight away. The fear and the loneliness wouldn't stop. The emptiness wasn't going to stop. And Tony's eyes spoke a million words; that he understood just that.

But Peter would try. 

It's what May would have wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I hope you liked this chapter! I've recently been feeling really bad and honestly Marvel is one of the few things that really makes me happy. Sounds stupid, but it's just such an amazing thing to get invested in, I've just grown up with all these incredible characters and they've influenced me and made me so very happy, there's this whole amazing universe to immerse myself in when I'm feeling so hopelessly shit and I can stay there for as long as I want. So writing this was a delight. Gonna watch SpiderMan tonight, specifically the first one with Tobey Maguire to take me back a bit to the less stressful times


	11. A Sweet Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYA. This was was super fun to write. It was fun to play around with it and I think it went from serious to more light hearted in places and I liked that. 
> 
> I still don't know where I'm going with the Steve and Tony thing- I think I'm keeping it as friendship though I don't mind Stony and it's fun writing relationships. Where do you guys stand with Stony, and do you think it would be beneficial and add to the plot or take away from Tony and Peter's gradual father/son relationship that's building? I doubt I'll do it in this story because I'm focusing on Tony and Pete. I know some people don't like certain characters together, and that's all good in the hood but give me your opinions :)
> 
> Make sure to leave a comment, I LOVE you guys telling me what you liked because I know what to do more of! Drop a comment and I'll drop some new chapters, woo

There was something Tony didn't understand, and that was why he'd began to feel such a natural instinct of protecting Peter Parker.

Which honestly sucked for both of them, because Peter was in an impossibly unfortunate, impossible situation that Tony couldn't begin to scratch the surface of, and Peter really didn't want anyone to help him.

Tony could see that much. He understood. People helping felt like they were patronising you and making you feel weaker than you were. Your mind was incapable to make time for people and you don't believe a thing these people say. And most of the time, they reopen old wounds. That's why Tony made sure to place his words extremely carefully, as to never ever mention anything to do with fire burning, buildings collapsing, or May.

Sometimes you don't need to say anything very terrible. Even the smallest words can remind someone of something, then the rest is down to them. In their head alone, they can turn the word warm into an inferno of flames until they are choking on the smoke. 

Tony let Peter stay in the room for most of the twenty four hours that followed. It was the least he could do for the kid, let him just be on his own and do what he wanted. Which was mostly lie in bed. He made sure to bring food to him, remind him he could come out whenever he wanted, he was free to do what he liked. Through check ins with FRIDAY, Tony knew he hadn't been sleeping very well, but he at least hadn't had another panic attack. 

The hours had been long, where he didn't sleep either. He had been kept up, plagued by thoughts that rolled through his head. These were mainly along the lines of _don't forget to NOT run in to any of the others_ , mainly because he was willing to accept he was weak and couldn't handle a confrontation. The other half was _is Peter okay? Should he be alone? Would I like being alone? Yes. It's important to give him space. When he starts to isolate himself a lot then I'll get involved..._

It was the following evening when he walked through the empty living area, all signs that anyone was ever there gone. Clint must have done his weekly clean up. Though Tony didn't see him do it.

 _That's because I locked myself in the garage for about eight hours. Yeah._

He walked past the open balcony, where the curtains were opened full and cast a dim, warm glow into the room. Steve was there- leaning against the barrier, blocking out the setting sun and casting long shadows on the ground. His hair looked significantly darker in the soft lights and as he heard Tony's presence and turned around, Tony saw his eyes looked darker too. 

He smiled weakly as Steve caught his eye.

"Tony. Hi."

Tony walked onto the balcony, openly letting the air hit his face, ruffle his hair. It was fresh, and he felt grateful for the cool weather. He came to lean against the railing, his eyes trailing to the magnificent colours dancing in the sky.

"Hey."

There was a long silence that stretched over the pair, as they looked out onto the jungle of their city. Cars rushed by down below and the roar of the city was reduced to gentle whispers on the breeze. 

"How's the kid?"

"He's okay," Tony replied, looking over at the bigger man. 

"Is he going to school tomorrow..?"

Tony hadn't thought about that. 

Probably should have.

He pretended he had anyway.

"No. I don't think he wants to. Plus, they'll have to ask him questions about his Aunt. He's not ready for that yet. Well. If anyone even knows she's dead. I doubt she was discovered, everyone in that building was vaporised in the explosion after we left. "

Steve nodded, without turning his head to face him. He wore a somber expression, and lines were etched into his forehead, showing Tony he wasn't the only one stressing out about things. 

"Look, about yesterday-"

"I want to apologise for yelling. It wasn't my place to, especially in front of the kid."

"No, I don't blame you," Tony said quickly. "I really don't. I'm an asshole. I know. I know I fuck up all the time. Let's face it, I'm literally the worst person in the world, suits or not, that Fury could have picked out for this damned fucking team."

Steve turned to him, raising his eyebrows.

"Where are you and what have you done with Tony Stark?"

"Shut up," Tony rolled his eyes, "or I will live up to that title and beat your ass to the ground."

Steve cracked a smile, and Tony's face softened as the solider shook his head in despair.

"You're unbelievable, you know that?"

Tony snorted. 

"How so?"

He exhaled deeply, hesitating before speaking. He spoke much softer, much more reasonable than inside, but pointed out almost the same, reasonable thing. 

"Just... so reserved. To a point where it's a problem. I don't know if you get what this kid's going through Tony, but you can't keep up that facade of cocky, billionaire, playboy who doesn't give a shit-"

"I know, I know. I've told myself, Cap," he muttered lowly. "I just... I don't know, I..."

His stomach twisted as he tried to access he problem in his head. _What is it? Why can't I bring myself to be something other than a cocky asshole? Why do I find it literally impossible to open my mouth and talk about how I feel? Why do I never feel like I'm good enough, but at the same time, feel like I'm the best person in the whole world?_

"I don't know what's wrong with me," he whispered. He felt fucking stupid. Don't break in front of Steve Rodgers. _Don't break in front of Steve Rodgers-_

"Talk to me."

Tony stared back in his bright blue eyes, full to the brim with concern and worry, and sucked in a laboured breath.

"There used to be a reason why I didn't open up. There still is- I don't know, I felt like I could justify it, but now? I don't know, Steve. It feels like it's part of me. It won't let go. And it feels so fucking lonely."

He whispered the last part, inwardly cringing at how stupid and weak it made him sound. He also clocked onto the fact he'd called Steve 'Steve', which was a rarity for Tony. Why, he didn't know.

Steve's lips stretched into a small smile.

"What?"

"I dunno. You opened up just now, didn't you?"

He shrugged uncomfortably.

"Yeah, and you won't see it again. I think it just gave me an anxiety attack, saying that outloud."

It was meant to be a joke- however, he felt as if he'd given too much away. Steve gave him a look, contemplating his words, and Tony averted his eye contact quickly. 

Tony also didn't like sympathy. Which was a big thing that stopped him from opening up to people. He just did things for himself. He didn't really need anyone else to fix him for him.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I fucked up. And for the record- I did help Peter. I just left. Because-"

"Because you feel like you're shit with children, that you can't do anything right and you have no right to parent a kid because you aren't good enough?" Steve cut in. He folded his arms, slumping more against the railing so that he almost sunk down to Tony's height. 

"Yeah- something like that," Tony muttered. "But I'll get better. I will. I've thought about it. This kid has gone through hell and back and I don't know how to fucking deal with it, especially the fact he's _Spider-Man_ \- but I'm going to try because I'm a pretentious prick, living in this billion- dollar complex with a perfect life and I'm moping around being depressed for no reason while he's been orphaned at fifteen and he's trying to live a life helping people as Spider-Man. He deserves more than I have now, more than I've ever had. Fuck, I'm the fucking _worst."_

That was the closest he'd ever get to admitting he's depressed to anyone in the world.

Never again. Not saying those words ever again.

He hoped Steve hadn't picked up on them- but he knew he must have. 

"You just changed so much in such a short space of time."

He said it as a statement, but still tilted his head toward Tony as if he was suppose to give him an answer. 

"Yeah. Whatever. I'm a mess, I'll fix it-"

"It's good."

Tony blinked.

"I don't think you really get it. You just spoke about your emotions to me." 

He took a step forward towards him, and Tony felt the immediate reaction to move backward. 

"It's funny- people always say stuff. "Tony Stark doesn't have emotions..." I knew you did. Of course you do. You're human. You're right here. "

The sincerity lining Steve's velvety voice made Tony half believe it and half want to blow chunks.

"'Kay, you're gonna have to cut the shit before this gets embarrassing. I'm going to go and work on some stuff."

"Right. Okay."

Tony nodded once at him, accompanied by a weak smile. He turned his back away from the breathing city, and away from Steve Rodgers and his stupid face and his stupid little cringey shit speeches. 

"Tony?" 

He looked back around at the blonde, who leant with his back up against the barrier, smiling.

"Back to how we were..?"

Tony snorted.

"You mean our mutual acquaintance? Tolerating eachother? Me putting up with you being in love with me?"

Steve laughed out loud. 

"Hey, watch it, dick."

Tony smirked before turning to leave, leaving the super soldier out in the cold night to watch him disappear down into his garage for probably another 72 hours. 

What a sweet life.


	12. Mute

"Lights down."

They shut off.

The only reason that Tony wasn't edgy about being in enclosed spaces, in the dark, with only the dull blue glow of the arc reactor to give him light, was because he'd moved far away from the walls of the room and moved right into the centre of garage. The space around him was completely clear, and he'd laid a yoga mat down- not with it in mind to do any yoga, but because the last thing he'd feel under him in the cave in Afghanistan would be a yoga mat. 

The dark made Tony uneasy. Not that he's actually admit this. However, being in the dark at the same time helped his mind switch off. He _could_ be in his bedroom- however, sometimes it all got too much. It had been a long time since he'd relapsed to attacks about Afghanistan, but it had stared to creep back up behind him whenever he was trying to sleep. The bed was too small. It was queen sized- but it had an edge to it, and for some ridiculous, stupid reason that Tony wanted to hit himself for, he'd wake up in the middle of the night, in the darkness with the blue glow, feeling as if the bed were as small as the one in that fucking cave. That _fucking_ cave.

So, being in larger spaces eased him slightly. If that meant sleeping in the middle of his garage on the floor then so be it. He didn't leave his garage anyway. 

He didn't bother to change. He'd brushed his teeth (somewhat properly) then snuck back down to the garage. If anyone saw him, that meant confrontation about self- care which Tony definitely couldn't face. He trudged into the room, made sure FRIDAY shut down the bots that whirred around and lay himself flat on the ground away from the walls. 

He lay on his back, without a blanket or any sort of thing to keep the heat it. It was fine. It was warm enough down there anyway.

The silence was deafening. It always was, when he came to sleep. He liked the sounds of machines working. Things being loud and productive. Though he'd hadn't slept in a while. So it was probably time now.

"FRIDAY?"

"Yes, sir?"

"How am I going to do this? I mean, how am I actually going to do this without fucking everything up?"

"What, sir?"

Tony lifted a hand to his head, where an ache spread down from the top of it to his neck. He hissed slightly. Sleeping without a pillow probably wasn't the cleverest idea, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"The kid," he said, impatient. His voice was croaky and penetrated the darkness harshly. 

"What about Peter, sir?"

Tony inwardly cursed- he could have sworn he programmed FRIDAY to be able to catch on a little faster. She didn't seem to learn anything. No matter how many times Tony went back to edit the system, he could never seem to master FRIDAY. He didn't know what was wrong with him.

"I have to look after him. I have to get him a family and somewhere to live, he can't stay forever. I'm not made to handle kids- it's hard, I don't know. I don't know J- FRIDAY."

"Peter is fifteen. At this age he is mature enough to be treated like an adult, I think you will do a fine job, sir."

Tony sighed. His back was cold against the mat and a slight breeze tickled his feet. 

Something was missing. FRIDAY made Tony feel extremely uncomfortable. It wasn't the same. She felt so patronising.

It was true- Tony Stark couldn't open up to people- despite what Steve Rodgers somehow managed to make him feel earlier that day- but he'd always, without fail, be able to speak to JARVIS. It was something he'd worked on for years and years with help from his dad's former research, and he'd finally perfected him. JARVIS felt like a pet of Tony. 

But JARVIS wasn't here anymore. 

He was in Vision, a part of him- but he _still_ wasn't in there, in a way. He ceased to exist. How could Tony remake him? Have Jarvis' calming, trusting, chipper voice in a physical being who was developing his own personality, and use his voice in an artificial intelligence? 

It just seemed so wrong. It was as if Vision was disposable. But he wasn't. He was his own person now.

But he couldn't seem to make FRIDAY as well as he did with JARVIS. Blood, sweat and tears went into that voice that had stayed by his side for so long. As time progressed, Tony realised he never had that same enthusiasm again. He couldn't find anything in himself to put that effort it. 

So there was FRIDAY.

Tony felt bad as he lay there, cursing the AI in his head. It wasn't her fault. But being around the virtually perfect companion JARVIS had twisted his judgement, and he soon realised, as much as it felt like it, that neither of them were never actually people and they never had feelings to feel hurt in the first place.

"FRIDAY?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I fucking hate you and I hope you fall of a really fucking high building."

"I do not have a corporeal form, sir-"

See. That fucking wound him up.

"I know that, you worthless pile of code," he growled into the darkness, "Just pretend you do and do it in your head. Literally. Go jump of a building. Run into traffic. Go and get sucked into a fucking wormhole and stay there. Destroy yourself. Just piss off. Piss off, FRIDAY."

Somehow he managed to say the word 'wormhole.'

"Sir-"

"Why can't I fucking do anything right?" He said, louder this time, folding his arms protectively around his stomach. "I did this before- why can I not do it now? Why can't I make anything that works? Anything that helps anyone? I'm sorry FRIDAY, i fucking failed you. I really did. I'm sorry."

"Sir-"

"Fuck, it's cold. Fuck, I'm tired. Fuck- just fucking turn up the heating.

"Sir."

"What?" He almost shouted, sitting up from the hardness of the floor to glare into the void of black, only filled by the glow of the arc reaction turning the particles in the air blue. 

"I have been trying to inform you that Peter is still awake."

Tony allowed himself to breathe for a moment, not realising how worked up he'd made himself. He focused on his heart, breathing deeply for a moment or so before fully registering FRIDAY's words. 

"Okay," he painted. "Right. Peter?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay. So you simply _had_ to tell me, there wasn't any other options to disturb anyone else? Let's say, the people who do get regular sleep?"

"You're the only person who's set alerts for Peter Parker, sir."

"Oh. Yeah. Time?"

"It's currently 4:32 am."

"Great. Lights up," he mumbled. He lifted himself from the mat and made towards the door, trying to move his shoulders to get the stiffness from his neck. 

The mask on his work table caught his eye. He hadn't given it back to Peter earlier, he'd forgot to mention it wasn't done. Luckily it was finished, the material fully sealed and looking as good as new.

He decided to bring it along as a token of somewhat something or other.

He pocketed the masked in the back of his jeans, and with a tired, broken, shaky sigh, left the garage.

 

\------

 

He opened Peter's door slowly, as if he was scared moving too fast would kill him or something. 

The room was dim, the lamps not quite on the lowest setting. Peter's bed was empty, the quilt was bunched up and the pillows unoccupied. Tony's stomach churned.

His eyes darted upward- and there, to his disbelief, was Peter. He sat against in the corner of the room, high up near the ceiling. His back rested against the wall and his feet were placed on the neighbouring wall, and if his ass was on the ground it may have looked normal. He wasn't wearing Tony's old clothes he gave him for pyjamas- instead, he had put on the Spider-Man suit. His slender form hung in the air, curled up small between the walls. His face was shadowed in the dark, but Tony could make out a pair of sunken, wide eyes that watched him wearily. 

"Hey."

There was no reply. Tony didn't expect one.

Tony sat on the bed, looking up at the kid wearily. _How do I handle kids?_

"Why are you up there..? Bed not comfy enough for you?"

Peter's head didn't even turn around.

The knot in Tony's stomach only tightened. The last thing he wanted was the kid to feel the need to isolate himself. But... everything was okay earlier. What changed? What happened? 

"Pete, I'm sorry for this, I really am, but please come down. Just for a minute."

The mop of brown hair twitched.

Tony took a breath, relaxed his shoulders. He softened his tone.

"Just for a minute. For me?"

Very, very slowly, the body near the ceiling stirred. His head looked round at Tony, and Tony didn't think he'd seen anyone that powerful look so incredibly small. 

He waited with baited breath, until Peter's feet slid from the wall. He put his hands to his sides to maintain a grip on the wall and pushed on lightly, landing on his feet before Tony. 

"Sit."

He did. He sat, and the light hit his face and made his features glow. He looked distraught. His lips were still. His eyes were unmoving, the bags even more pronounced that the other day. He was as white as a sheet. 

He just looked... so sad.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

Peter didn't even look at Tony. All the frustration that may have been present in Tony as he came to his room had suddenly vanished and was replaced by a strong surge of empathy. He observed the boy beside him, with fear in his heart.

"Was it a nightmare?"

He shook his head.

"Were... were you just thinking? Just... letting it in?"

His stillness told Tony more that he'd hoped to be told. 

When Peter finally spoke, it was low and scratchy.

"What do you mean, letting it in?"

Tony shrugged. "You can't get your head away from things. So you occupy yourself. That's why you got the suit on."

Peter twitched, and almost looked as if he might protest. But he didn't.

"Okay, I'm trying my best here. So..."

"It makes me feel powerful."

Tony raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"I don't like Peter," Peter whispered. "I like Spider-Man. I like being in the suit. It calms me down."

Tony nodded.

His mind flicked to his suits. All lined up in grand cases. The soul of his life. Some would say he lost unfathomable amounts of sleep over those suits. But Tony didn't have the sleep to lose in the first place.

They made him. They calmed him. They meant he was something more than broken Tony. He was Iron Man. Until he wasn't.

There was a silence that stretched for too long. 

"Mr Stark," Peter began finally, his voice barely audible. "Please could you go?"

Tony didn't know what to say. The kid looked at him with a blank stare, his lips parted, his eyes empty. The sight almost physically hurt. He let the whirlpool of emotions in his head die down before finally replying.

"I- If you want me to."

Sometimes you need to be alone. As long as you know you're not alone.

But Tony wasn't positive that Peter knew that yet.

"Yes. I want you to."

Tony couldn't bring any part of him to move. He'd barely said anything- and he needed to. He had the ability to help this kid, comfort him, make him less scared and less alone. So why wasn't he letting him?

"Peter. Firstly, please call me Tony. Secondly, I don't know if it's a wise choice to be-"

"Please."

Pathetically, Tony faltered and bit his lip. 

So much for that plan. 

"Okay," he spoke softly, hesitantly. "I have- I have your mask. I was finishing it. I get it. I get that you can't sleep. Trust me. I get it that every time you close your eyes it all comes back. I get it. I swear to you. So I'm not making you go to bed like I'm your dad, because I'm definitely not. And that'd be hypocritical."

He passed him his mask, along with five fully loaded cartridges of web fluid that he'd taken from the suit earlier. 

"Stay up for as long as you want. Just preoccupy yourself. Get your mind off things. But promise me you'll try to sleep...?" 

Peter blinked at him, clutching the cartridges and the mask in his fists.

"Sleep is important. It can ruin you if you don't have it. You'll be able to heal from this, Peter. I promise. It's not too late for you to heal."

_But it is for me._

As his words evaporated into the air, Peter's eyes flicked away, and he stared back down into his lap, clasping his shaky hands together.

Tony finally stood, walked over to the door and prepared himself to leave by turning round one more time.

"Your Aunt would be proud of you."

"Goodnight Tony."

His voice was cold. Shaky quiet. His first name lingered. Tony wanted to kick himself. _Do something. Help him out._

"I'm sorry."

Peter didn't reply.

He finally closed the door.

 

\-----

 

 

"FRIDAY, what's he doing? Get the cameras up."

 

"We do not have cameras in the bedrooms sir, for privacy reasons."

 

"Shit. Yeah. Sorry. Tell me what he's doing, then. Part of the Spider-Man protocol and what- not. It's allowed."

 

"Peter is on the ceiling. His heart rate is above average. He is using the web fluid, lacing it together into some sort of contraption."

 

"Keeping himself occupied, I take it."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"Right. Keep me updated."

 

"I shall, sir."

 

\-----

 

4:54

 

"Peter is down from the ceiling, sir, he is pacing his room."

 

"Vitals?"

 

"Fairly normal. His emotional distress levels are abnormally high."

 

"Right."

 

"He could probably benefit from another being-"

 

"I can't go in. He doesn't want me there. He wants to be alone."

 

"As you wish, sir."

 

\-----

 

5:25

 

"Peter has been walking around sir, until now where he has been firing his web at the walls."

 

"Is he okay?"

 

"That depends on your definition of 'okay', sir."

 

"Yeah, yeah. Is he physically hurt?"

 

"No, sir. The burns have almost completely gone."

 

"Good to hear."

 

"He has just got into the bed, sir."

 

"Good. Maybe he'll sleep."

 

\------

 

 

5:34

 

"Peter is pacing against, sir. I have sound proofed the room in case his actions causing disturbance to neighbouring rooms, but he has began to hit the walls and he is making sounds of pain."

 

"Fuck. Is he physically hurt?"

 

"Minor injuries to his hands. Grazing and bruising. It seems his distress levels are only rising."

 

"Great. Fucking great. Set an alarm if he attempts to hurt himself intentionally. Make it really fucking loud. I want it to make my fucking ears bleed."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"I'm doing the right thing."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"He wanted to be alone."

 

"He did say that, sir."

 

"Sometimes it's the better thing to do. To listen to someone and just respect that they need to be alone:"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"You're fucking useless. So am I."

 

\-----

 

6:07

 

"Peter is still throwing himself into walls."

 

"Oh, god."

 

"Are you okay, sir?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Your heartbeat has increased and your breaths are becoming laboured-"

 

"Just tell me about the fucking kid, FRIDAY."

 

"He's crying."

 

"Oh."

 

"It seems to be lowering his stress levels. Crying is a good way to release-"

 

"How is he crying..? Is he crying a lot?"

 

"He is sobbing. I should bring to your attention that the sound blocker is still in full effect.

 

Sir?

 

You should sleep, sir."

 

"I know."

 

\-----

 

6:48

 

"He has stopped moving around sir. He's been stationary for the past half an hour."

 

"What is he doing?"

 

"He's in bed."

 

"Fuck. Good. Thank good. He's alright? No injuries? No panic attacks, right-"

 

"He seems to be okay, however, he is still crying."

 

"Right."

 

"Into his pillows. He has been doing so for 34 minutes.

 

Sir?

 

I strongly advise you to at least lie back down, sir. 

 

I do not think you are in the right mental state to be constructing now, sir.

 

Your stress levels are dangerously high and your lack of sleep could mean you may lose consciousness. I highly discourage you from trying to do anything at this time.

 

I'm sorry, sir

 

I can bring the lights up, if you would like, sir

 

At your command, sir

 

I understand you're not in the mind set to talk right now sir. Try not to suppress crying. It has been a long time since you have cried.

 

Crying can be good.

 

The boy is asleep, sir.

 

Yet you cry more?

 

Sir, I-"

 

"Mute."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE LEAVE A LITTLE REVIEW FOR THIS CHAPTER IN THE COMMENTS! I'm honestly so proud of this one, though there are bits that need tidying up, I just feel very happy about the structure of the end but. I really hope you guys liked it, tell me what you did like about it :))) I'm 100% open to criticism, so please feel free give me pointers as well as things you want to see me do more of. for some reason I'm still buzzing to wake up and read comments even though tomorrow is gonna be shit. Tell me how you are. I hope you're all doing great. Thank you so much for reading. < 3


	13. Coco Pops And Daddy Issues

Tony entered the kitchen to find Natasha on her own sat at the dining table with a mug of coffee.

"Stark. Good to see you out of that garage two days on the trot."

"Yeah."

He walked to the fridge, bending low to grab the milk from the bottom before putting it on the side and slamming the door shut.

"Accident," he mumbles when Nat jumped. 

Somehow he managed to find the coffee. They'd moved it yet again and his head didn't feel the clearest that morning. 

He glanced briefly around the rest of the room before frowning. 

"Where's everyone?"

"Steve and Clint have gone to Afghanistan. Trouble with something or other- Fury didn't want them to waste their time but it's been ages since they'd got out so I don't blame them. We didn't want to wake you. You were finally sleeping and even then I think you got about an hour in. Plus, we sort of gathered that it wasn't really your gig."

Tony snorted.

He came to sit by Nat, every molecule of his body being dragged down by the weight of sleep.

"Yeah. Think I'll pass on that. When did they set off?"

"Early, maybe two hours ago. They should be there this afternoon, maybe back in the next few days."

"Cool."

He took a sip from his mug. He'd made it extremely strong, in the end deciding he wasn't even going to bother with milk, even though it was how he usually took his coffee. He knew he'd need it. He felt the very definition of dead, so much so that he couldn't even feel his heart beating. He felt extremely de-attached from his surroundings.

"Do you think we need to do anything about Spider-Man?"

Nat watched Tony with inquisitive eyes that searched his own. Her fluorescent orange hair was scraped back into a loose ponytail and she dressed and ready to leave for training. Tony used to go and train, before he dedicated his time to fucking around in his garage. 

"Do what?"

"I don't know. We originally brought him here to question him and make sure what he was doing was controlled and that his intentions were good."

Nat shrugged.

"Honestly Tony, I don't think we need to control anything. I've seen the videos, that kid is extremely strong and he's using it for good. You can tell. We don't need to worry anyway. He isn't going anywhere any time soon."

Tony considered this for a moment before realising she was right. He couldn't ever imagine Peter using his powers irresponsibly. For one second. He had been very wrong in the medbay. 

Nat tapped her feet on the floor, breaking the silence that set comfortably around them as Tony sipped his coffee and she sat back in her chair. They'd always gotten along, Tony and Nat. They disagreed quite a lot, and they both had a temper on them that could blow down a house, but for the most part, Natasha was calm and calculated, understanding yet sharp. If Nat thought it was a bad move, it probably was. If Nat would do it, you probably should too. If Nat told you to run, else she'd dismember your internal organs with a single punch- then you probably should. Because she probably would. 

As much as Tony wanted to be back in the garage- he had to tell himself he needed a break. It wasn't even the lack of sleep, or the lack of food or social interaction- his head just wouldn't stop spinning. There was only one thing that circulated through his mind and didn't stop- that was Peter.

"What is it?"

Tony looked up.

"Hmm?"

"You're thinking too much."

_Yeah, well. Welcome to my life._

He sighed.

"I think the kid's depressed. Like- really depressed."

It sounded painfully obvious when he said it out loud.

Natasha sat to full attention as the words slipped out of Tony's mouth in a monotonous jumble. Her eyebrows turned in, and that look sprung to her face- that pity look. Which was ridiculous, because Tony was pretty sure he'd said _the kid_ was depressed, not him.

"Don't look at me like that."

"How should I look at you?"

"Expertly. Knowingly. Like you're about to hit me with some intense, hard-core therapist advice. Not like I'm a kicked puppy."

She smirked.

"How do you know the kid's depressed? I mean, I'm not surprised he is. After everything that's happened."

Tony's heart dropped as FRIDAY's words from the previous night seemed to dance in his head over and over again. In the end he was very happy he couldn't access cameras in Peter's room. He didn't want to. He didn't want to see that.

With a heavy heart and a stone in his throat, he took a deep breath and began to explain the events of the previous night. She listened intently, hanging onto every word that left his mouth. Nat was a very good listener, when she wanted to be. She did more than listen then- she took it all in, understanding and thinking, and when Tony mentioned him hitting walls, she visibly winced. 

"Man. I'm sorry, Tony..."

"Don't need to apologise to me," he sniffed. Wasn't me who had to go through it."

Just then, as if summoned by his words, the frail boy stepped through the archway into the kitchen. He was out of the suit, which surprised him. 

But he looked terrible.

His eyes were an extremely obvious bright, bloodshot red, due to the excessive crying that Tony knew had occurred last that early morning. Gravity was pulling every limb in his body to the ground and he didn't look like he had enough energy in him to even hold himself upright. It was painfully to look at.

His burn was completely gone, though. 

He needed a shower, too. His brown hair was thick with grease and was incredibly tangled. Tony shifted. It reminded him of someone he knew. But no- that's something he could never let happen. He wouldn't let Peter fall into the same trap as him.

"Good morning, Peter."

Nat smiled at him, covering her own surprise with a soft, welcoming smile.

Peter smiled weakly back. It was broken. It only took a second glance to see it smashing into a million pieces.

It hurt.

Which was weird, because Tony barely knew the kid, and things had already started to change. He didn't even want to admit it to himself. He wouldn't. 

Peter lifted a hand slowly to rest against the doorframe, as if he needed that little extra help to keep him upright. 

Tony put the pain in his chest down to the hot coffee that he'd practically inhaled down his gullet. 

"Do you want anything to eat?" Nat asked.

"No, I... ah. Yes, actually, if that's o-"

But Natasha had already stood, and began striding over to the cupboard. 

"What do you like? Cap 'n Crunch? Lucky Charms? Coco Pops?"

His eyes watched her rummage between cereal boxes with a detectable air of caution in them. 

"I... I don't mind."

Nat rolled her eyes- but in a friendly, joking kind of manner. Tony didn't expect her to be that at ease with troubled teenagers- then again, he supposed she helped with Clint's kids enough. 

"What about it? What does he usually go for, Mr Daddy Stark?"

She turned her body to flash Tony an expectant look, as his body flushed suddenly with an emotion that could probably be called embarrassment.

"Ha ha. Not his dad."

"My bad."

He frowned at her.

"But he chose Coco Pops the other day. A wise and knowledgable choice."

Natasha grinned knowingly.

"Takes after you," she mouthed with a wink. Tony growled. However irritating Natasha was though, he was grateful that she'd whispered the second part to that. He didn't think Peter would react very well if Tony was being compared to anyone like his dad. Tony was as far from dad as a dad could be, and it's the last thing Peter would want- to be stuck with Tony Stark as a father.

The thought was almost laughable.

After a slow few minutes of careful conversation over a bowl of Coco Pops, Nat finally set a bowl down on the table opposite Tony. Though hesitant at first, Peter finally came in and managed at least some cereal- but he stopped eating. He'd eaten some- but maybe not enough. It wasn't a big bowl in the first place, yet he'd only eaten half, leaving a large puddle of murky chocolate milk behind for the rest to absorb up. 

"You gonna eat some more?"

His small features grew yet smaller as he shook his head slowly. 

Tony wanted to help. In fact, he wanted to help more than he cared to admit- but in the end, he gave in. He promised him he'd bring him some food later in the day- that he was allowed to come out of his room whenever he wanted and he didn't need to be afraid. Yet, he still left. With the door shutting firmly behind him.

Tony hadn't forgotten what it felt like. Maybe that's why he didn't interrupt. Sometimes being alone is the most important thing in the world.

Yet, at the same time, the same time as you want everyone to leave you and never come back, you want someone to come to you and be there forever. Maybe not do anything. Maybe not hold or touch you, or even be in the same room as you.

He didn't know. He just knew that he had to make sure Peter knew he had the option. 

He needed to know that Tony was always going to be there. To do what- Tony didn't know. But he'd sure as he'll be there. And he'd sure as hell try.

After Peter remained in his room for the next two hours, Tony let everything sink. 

_I can help this. I can fix this myself._

When he didn't have anything better to do that morning (not like he ever did) , he went back down to his heaven, but at the same time, his prison that he loved so much. He stationed himself, and spent the next long hours with his mind completely indulged in the screens jumping with code before him, the most important thing he'd probably somehow ever create at his finger tips.

He set to long, hard work, once again, on he one thing he was good at, that could help save Peter Parker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QUESTION OF THE WEEK- What's your favourite Marvel film and why? 
> 
> It's an extremely hard question and I literally can't answer t properly- but I'd say AT THE MOMENT it is Doctor Strange. Overall, it's probably an original Tobey Macguire Spider-Man film, maybe 1 or 2. As much as I love Tom Holland (and he's the best Peter Parker and Spider-Man in my opinion) Tobey's were what I grew up with and they give me such good vibes. Andrew is also great though, all three of them have great things about them :) 
> 
> I'm sorry this chapter is so short. I am gonna be so busy as of late revising for my exams but I'm gonna upload at LEAST once a week, if not more. Stay tuned. 
> 
> But I feel like I can't say Spider-Man if my favourite cause all the other Marvel films exist and they are all the best thing since slIced BREAD 
> 
>  
> 
> okay I'm gonna go 
> 
> Make sure to leave a comment, I wanna hear about your favourite Marvel films, and also tell me what you liked about the chapter! And maybe guess what's Tony is making for Peter :))))
> 
> Thank you so much for the support 
> 
> Smell you later


	14. Incabable Of Communicating

The days that stretched into the longest week of Peter's life were some of the hardest he'd ever tried to get through.

Which, in a way, was stupid, because he'd spent them doing absolutely nothing.

Every little feeling had gradually been sucked out of him, and it felt as if he was walking around, everyday, almost an empty shell. The smell of bacon in the mornings, so warm and smoky, usually so tempting to him, giving him a warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach as the thought of a bacon sandwich dripping with ketchup teased at his lips- it just smelt like burning. Like nothing. The feeling of a hot shower, the water running is streams down his skin, made him feel alert and refreshed, rousing the sense of comfort and tranquility from his mind... it was just water. It was as hot as ever, cascading down his spine and tracing every curve of his muscles, enveloping him with warmth- but yet, nothing. Nothing inside, where he was suppose to feel relaxed, elated- even the emotions he went to cure with a shower. Anger, sadness, frustration. Hell, he'd kill to feel even sad. _Sad,_ sad- humanly sad, with tears and the churning sensation in his stomach. Not... emptiness. Not something that came without logic or reason. Not something that felt more like a state of being, a way of life that an emotion. 

He felt indescribably, incredibly alone. At the same time, he felt impossibly surrounded by people, people who said they can help, but people Peter couldn't bring himself to trust. And Tony...

Somewhere, Peter wanted the comfort. He wanted someone to pick him up and baby him, to let him sleep all the time and bring him food, to fuss over him and just _keep him safe._ But no. In no shape or form did he deserve that. Not if he couldn't keep them safe.

The other side of him cursed everyone who so much as looked at him wrong. Human interaction became a chore. It became scary and unfamiliar, he felt something he'd never felt before and at the same time he wanted to hug someone- someone like Tony, he wanted to push him away. He wanted to lock _himself_ away.

The night dragged. He couldn't sleep. He didn't bring himself to even closing his eyes. 

At one point, FRIDAY interrupted his long train of empty thought to question his condition, to which Peter ignored. That is, until FRIDAY offered to send Mr Stark. Then he snapped to FRIDAY's attention, telling her firmly that he didn't need anyone and he never would.

Sleepless nights were the worst kind. The type of nights that couldn't happen more than three times a week, even for Peter, else he'd either break down or fall into a coma. He decided that a coma might be preferable. 

He spent his days in his room, taking small interest in the things that The Avengers left at his door. He'd eaten some of the food he'd been offered- but he was more interested in the little things that they had left outside, little, stupid things, like a lego set, a rubix cube, a Nintendo Switch. 

Peter wouldn't lie. Never in a million years would he have afforded to even touch a Nintendo Switch a month ago. He made the most of it.

Until he couldn't even rely on Mario Kart 8 Deluxe to keep a fraction of his mind occupied. 

So, he tried. 

He really did. The night began with the thoughts treating him kindly, until he'd had the most heart stopping, shaking nightmare, that broke him down even more as he woke up, gasping and jerking.

It didn't happen though. No freak out. No crazy session. It was fine.

Sort of. 

He'd endured it.

The night afterward was worse.

 

"Peter?"

A rush of adrenaline shot through him like a bullet. It forced him awake with hard, unforgiving ghosts of fingers pulling at his shoulders and another dead hand squeezing his windpipe. He gasped for air, air that never seemed to enter his lungs. He stared into space.

It wasn't something he could ever explain. Everything hurt. His chest felt like it was being weighed down like a tonne of bricks, the smoke that had glided away from his dream to his reality made him gag. The strong, pungent odour of burning flesh. 

All life seemed to be rippling out of his body, until he was suddenly jerked back to reality by a familiar figure wrenching open the bedroom door.

Like usual.

"Kid. Peter."

He barely heard him. He didn't really want to hear him.

At the same time, he wanted him. He wanted him to hold him like his aunt used to, how his uncle used to, how a friend would comfort a friend, how a father would to a son-

His breath caught in his throat again. 

It was impossible. Impossibly selfish of him, in every single way. May was gone for less than a month, and he already craved another's comfort. He thought about Ben. 

It wasn't him, either. If only Ben was there. If only Tony was Ben.

But no. Tony was Tony. And Peter couldn't stop the words echoing in his head.

 _Betrayal. May. Ben._

"Peter, hey. Ah- fuck, look at me, okay? It'll be-"

"No," he managed to croak. 

His vision cleared enough to make out Tony's troubled expression, his wide, apprehensive brown eyes that stared into Peter expectantly. 

The longer he looked, the worse he felt. Everything was breaking.

"Mr Stark," he breathed, "please. Please go, I don't need your help, leave me alone."

The blurr in front of him twitched, and went to move closer.

"No. I mean it."

He tensed, his shoulders visibly shaking slightly and his heavy breath indicating he'd been running. His harsh breath was enough to make Peter want to throw up out of nervousness, along with the anxiety induced ripples that ripped through his skin.

He just sat, rocking slightly. Breathing heavily. Shouting at Tony so go away.

If he went away, it'd be less real. If he was alone, he could pretend none of it had ever happened.

He didn't hear Tony leave. But he must have.

He heard something else when he did. Sounded almost like crying.

But that's stupid. _Tony Stark doesn't cry._

His vision never seem s to clear. The intense pang in his chest never seemed to heal. He calmed. Slowly but surely, but he never really felt his feet land back onto familiar ground. 

He lay, stiff in his bed. Unmoving. Not sleeping.

 

\-----

 

12:30

 

"... FRIDAY?"

 

"Yes, Peter?"

 

"Is... is Mr Stark awake?"

 

"Yes. Should I alert him?"

 

"No. Don't- just- I don't know. Nevermind."

 

"You seemed to not have recovered well from your previous anxiety attack. Mr Stark is-"

 

"I don't care. Stop talking about him. It makes me feel worse."

 

"I don't see-"

 

 _" Shut up, FRIDAY."_

 

"As you wish."

 

\-------

 

1:05

 

"What's Mr Stark doing?"

 

"He at work in his garage, Peter."

 

"Right."

 

"His breathing is slightly irregular and his stress levels are clearly high. Do you want to me to contact Mr Stark?"

 

" _No,_ FRIDAY. I don't care. I was just... wondering. It doesn't matter."

 

"As Mr Stark's assistant I've noticed you and him share similar qualities. One is your inability to communicate when states of emotional pain."

 

"I highly doubt that. Please stop."

 

"Mr Stark is-"

 

"FRIDAY. I'm going to sleep. I'm going to sleep."

 

\------

 

3:42

 

"Peter, I advise you against putting on your suit. You are suffering from severe sleep deprivation and any attempt at activity could lead to fainting or sickness."

 

"Sleeping in your suit isn't the best idea, Peter. In this state; your body temperature-" 

 

"Leave me alone."

 

"Does the suit calm you?"

 

"Peter?"

 

"I would have assumed primarily that the suit would have a negative impact and be a trigger to flashbacks of the event that have triggered your PTSD, however, your vitals show otherwise."

 

"It's refreshing to see you at peace."

 

"Peter?"

 

"Are you responsive?"

 

"Peter Parker?"

 

_You finally sleep. From vitals and detecting your motion, you are mostly at good rest. If only I could say the same for Tony. Maybe Mr Stark will make me understand one day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know what this was- sorry it's not too detailed, but the upcoming chapters are gonna be real good ones :))) hopEFULLY.
> 
> Leave a comment and tell me wheat you liked about this chapter! I hope you're all having great days. Catch you later < 3


	15. He Has To Go

Tony fell into the chair with a loud thud as he threw his arms back behind his head and sighed.

"Right. What's this about?"

Since the others had returned from Afghanistan, with no complications and in one piece, that particular day ended with Tony being called to the conference room to join everyone around the giant, oversized marble table to talk about important things. Mostly, important things that Tony really didn't care about. Yet there he was.

Natasha pressed her hands together. She sat at the head of the table with Clint to her left and Bruce to her right, staring down at Tony who sat on the opposite side next to Steve. With piercing eyes and a determined expression, she cleared her throat.

"I know there are a lot of... our 'usual' that are busy right now- like Rhodes, Wilson-"

"Vision and Wanda aren't coming back for a while, either," Clint interrupted. "Wanda called the other day."

"Great. And Black Widow's setting us up for a most likely near- impossible mission with about a quarter of the gang. Cute," Tony drawled, sinking into the chair. Clint snorted.

"You two better not fuck around this whole meeting."

"Language."

"Piss off, Tony," Steve groaned, resting his arms on the table and leaning towards Nat as Clint made a sound that sounded like the mating call of a goose. 

" _Anyway,"_ she hissed, teeth gritted, "Yesterday there was a big explosion in Brazil-"

"In Rio..?" Bruce said suddenly.

"Yes."

"I saw in the news," he nodded. "In a warehouse just off the coast."

Natasha's lips spread into a smile.

"Nice to know someone's paying attention to things."

She glanced briefly around the room, her gaze lingering on Tony and Clint, before addressing the situation with the seriousness and determination as she had before.

"This warehouse has been uncovered now as the base of a weapons manufacturer. The explosion has been traced back to a mechanism- a suit, that has the power to shoot blasts that can vaporise anything within a 20 foot radius."

"A suit?"

Tony's head snapped up, frowning.

"Yes. They've been trying to replicate the Iron Man suit. So far, they are doing well. There's not a very high chance they will be able to get the technology to complete them, in terms of Tony they are about a hundred years away from creating a stabilised suit, but it has caused a rift between the citizens and those who are now counted as terrorists, and it'd be the best thing to get in there and stop them. Destroy the suits."

It wasn't anything Tony hadn't heard of before. Hundreds of organisations had been trying to replicate the Iron Man armour ever since he escaped the cave in Afghanistan, and none of them really came close. Going to Brazil and blowing up a few fake suits would be a piece of cake. Plus, it was another opportunity to save innocent lives. 

"Well, y' know. I'm a slut for being a hero," he shrugged, throwing his arms over the arms of his chair. "Count me in, balls deep."

Clint howled, while Bruce chuckled and Steve snorted. Nat rolled her eyes again, throwing herself back into her chair with an exasperated sigh.

"Right. Thanks for that."

He smiled, and winked smoothly. 

Clint wiped his eyes, the rumble of laughter only beginning to subside when Steve cleared his threat loudly.

"So. We go to Brazil. What about the kid?"

Ah. Yeah. The kid. 

All heads at the exact same time seemed to turn to look at Tony. Even Nat, who's head remained angled towards Steve, shifted her eyes to meet Tony's as if she was waiting for something to happen. Tony shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, nudging Steve lightly with playful malice.

"What are you looking at me for? He's not my kid."

No one responded to that. Steve shrugged, looking back at Nat, whereas Bruce locked eyes with Clint and shared a small, noticeable smile. Natasha sighed again. The whole mood in the room seemed to shift.

"Someone needs to stay," Natasha said, simply. She straightened up and cracked her knuckles, piercing Tony again with warm, narrowed eyes. 

"Or we could call a babysitter."

Steve sat up suddenly, his bright blue eyes shining knowingly before announcing, "a vote. Who is staying here with the Spider-kid."

"All for Steve."

Tony raised his hand mockingly, watching everyone else sit still and follow his hand into the air with their amused eyes.

"All for Natasha," Steve said.

Again, no one raised their hand. 

"For Bruce?"

Tony raised his hand again, for the hell of it. He knew it was pointless. They'd already decided.

Despite his act- he did want to stay with Peter. As much as he wanted to get out, go and do something, he couldn't imagine going to Brazil and leaving the poor kid for a week. 

He tried to mask these feelings with his sunglasses. He slid them up his nose, sniffing as Steve said, "For Clint?" And no one raised their hand.

"Tony?"

Tony exhaled in disguised relief as everyone's hand was raised into the air. They all looked at him again with the same soft, slightly patronising expression, and he felt his neck begin to heat up.

"Quit you looking at me like that. Fine, I'll stay."

He sort of really wanted to go to Brazil. But he also sort of really wanted to be with Peter.

"Wonderful," Nat smiled happily. "It's also worth keeping someone else here as well."

Clint chuckled.

"Why? Does Tony need a babysitter now?"

The silence that followed his statement was one Tony didn't really expect. He raised his eyebrow expectantly at Nat, who ran a hand through her hair and sighed deeply. 

When she finally replied, she shrugged. 

"Can't be too careful."

"Wait, are you serious?"

Steve frowned in confusion, giving Tony a sideways glance. 

"Tony's fine. He's literally Iron Man, I don't-"

"Okay, shush- I just think it would be... better, if there was someone to... fall back on."

"Like that's necessary," Tony scoffed. He folded his arms in a huff, turning to Steve to see that he was staring at Natasha, almost in realisation. His lips were parted slightly, his eyes wide as he took his arms from the table and put them in his lap.

"I mean," Bruce murmured lowly, "she has a point."

What point? Why did they think Tony needed looking after? Of all people? He felt his stomach churn as Clint shot a look at him- _that_ look, that pity glance. 

"Get outta here," he began gruffly, "I can't see the point. I'm fine. What do you think would happen?"

"Tony, we aren't blind."

"What?"

"You haven't been coping well recently. You're getting less and less sleep. You're not in a good mental state."

Tony blinked, as his four, loyal, understanding, careful teammates all stared back at him.

"Well- " he spluttered, "if you think that, then why do you think I'm qualified to look after a kid?" 

Trying to prove them wrong for the sake of being petty didn't prove to work as a very good defence mechanism. Steve held a light hand on Tony's shoulder.

"Because you care about him, and he knows you the best."

The one thing that made Tony feel the worst in the world was weakness. He'd always been so good at hiding weakness. He was a man of many flaws. Too many flaws. He had too much expected of him, too much to live up to, and showing weakness would prove to his father that he wasn't good enough. Then, he started breaking. After New York. He'd even held himself together after Afghanistan, but there's only so much a man can handle. Clearly.

It made the situation so much worse. They all sat, his kind, generous friends who cared about his mental state, who were sat round, openly talking about helping him with his pretty obvious depression, and him, feeling like the smallest thing in the universe, hoping the ground would swallow him up. It was like a natural reaction- he felt himself cowering, shrinking smaller, the hole in his chest getting bigger and bigger. Excepting help would be admitting it's all true. That he needs it. That he's weak. Admitting defeat.

"Tony, listen- we can sort this out another time if you-"

"Tony, have you thought about what we're gonna do with the kid?"

Tony's eyes met with Bruce's in a cold exchange. Bruce spoke curiously, worriedly, though Tony felt his whole body tense.

"I'll have it sorted."

"But will you?" Natasha asked. Her eyes glinted with malice- a malice that Tony was most likely just creating in his mind- but a malice all the same. He stiffened, the air around him suddenly becoming very cold.

"I don't know. Give me time."

Clint shook his head, looking at Tony with sad, doleful eyes. He bit his lip. Hesitating.

"You need to get in touch with social services, Tony. It's only a matter of time before they find out his aunt is dead-"

"No. Just- stop. I don't fucking know. I don't know what to do with him, but I'm working on it."

He clenched his fists. _Calm. Don't give them a scene._

"When we get back," Nat spoke slowly, testing the waters, "you have to call social services. No exceptions."

"He's depressed. They can't handle-"

"Tony," Steve interrupted quietly, "they can. They are professionals."

"Well- they cant," He stated desperately, trying to remain composed. "They can't handle him. He's a mutant. He's a motherfucking superhero-"

"Tony," Bruce mumbled in warning as Natasha stood from the table, her palms flat on the marble, her teeth grit.

"You're not in charge. Just because this Peter has taken a shine to you-"

"-not really-"

"-Doesn't mean you immediately have rights to him. This will affect us all. What about us?"

"What about Peter?" Tony demanded, his voice almost at a shout as he began to shake. He stood from the table, his chair scrapping on the floor and making Steve jump beside him. 

"I'm THINKING about Peter!" She shouted, her cheeks flushed. "I care about the poor kid- I know you do too- but this is the only option and it needs to be approached now rather than later!"

"The social services," he grunted, white knuckles white, "won't give a shit about him."

"THAT'S HOW THE WORLD WORKS, TONY." She yelled, loud and shrill, making Clint stare at the ground and Bruce wince. She stopped abruptly, lowering her voice again. "There's nothing else we can do."

"But-"

"He has to go."

The room stilled. Silence crept around everyone, feeding off the tension as the atmosphere was fuelled with guilt.

Tony's eyes widened to see Natasha's hands shaking, her face pale, and tears dancing at the corners of her eyes. Her hard expression softened as Tony sucked in a breath, and took a slow step back towards the door.

"I know you care about him, Nat," Tony mumbled. "I'm sorry. I will. After you get back. I'm sorry."

She didn't reply. No one else did, either. They sat in silence as Tony turned his back on them, and rested his hand on the door handle.

"He has to go."

He said it mainly to himself- to almost finalise it. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad. Maybe he could find a new family. Maybe he'd be happy again. Maybe it wasn't going to be as half as bad for him as Tony thought.

He let out a shuddering breath, as he opened the door and went to leave.

But his breath caught abruptly in his throat as Peter Parker stared straight at his from the doorway, his mousey hair tousled, his eyes warm, his face pale, and the most heartbreaking expression on his face that demonstrated a million different forms of pain. 

_He has to go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who do you think would be the best to stay with Tony?
> 
> This chapter was pretty fun to write, I hope I got the interactions between them all right and the characterisation was okay. Tell me what you think in the comments :) I love reading them so much, I've got a long week ahead from tomorrow so I'm looking forward to waking up and reading your lovely comments, YOU GUYS ARE SUPER NICE AND I DONT DESERVE YOU BUT THANK YOU. SO VERY MUCH.
> 
> I hope this chapter was okay, and I hope you have a wonderful day


	16. Playing On Repeat

The unexpectedness of Peter's appearance didn't shake Tony as much as it probably should have. He definitely heard every word that was shouted in that room. And it definitely wasn't the most motivating thing, to be hearing people shout about how you need to leave. 

Tony blinked, taking in the boy's soft, but empty expression and noting the seemingly permanent red tint around his eyes had gotten more and more prominent since he'd last seen him that morning. At least he was out of his room. 

With caution, he reached behind him to close the door fully on the silence he'd left behind. Peter watched him tiredly.

He looked at the boy in front of him- boy teenager, man. He looked very much older than he was. He pushed his age to the back of his mind as he looked at him again, taking in the fact he was as tall as himself, his shoulders were broad, he almost completely filled out Tony's old t-shirt that hung loosely over his muscles. He wasn't just a kid. He'd known that from the start.

He smiled weakly at Spider-Man. It wasn't pitiful- it was more pitiful to himself. He reached up and removed his stupid ass sunglasses, folding them and slipping them into a back packet with a deep sigh.

"Come on."

He passed him, and walked down the hallways towards the lounge. For a moment, he didn't think Peter would come, but then he heard him shuffle and the light footsteps that followed behind his own. A warm wave washed over him. 

He listened intently as he heard people leave the conference room, heading out any way except towards to lounge. It was probably a good thing- Tony doubted Peter would open up to even one person. But Tony Stark could do a lot of things.

He sunk into the coach, flopping his weight down onto the cushions and invited Peter to do the same with the vague wave of a hand. The simmering anxiety that had steamed inside him had slowly began to cool, and out of the confines of the stuffy conference room, Tony felt that he could think more clearly, and definitely see Peter in a different way. 

Peter's hands clutched at the bottom of Tony's Iron Maiden t-shirt that he wore, watching Tony nervously. 

"I know I have to go."

"I thought as much."

His eyes darkened. After staring into space in deep thought, he lifted his head with a sniff, and focused in on Tony's hand.

He'd lifted his right hand towards him, in acceptance, in a kind invitation, to let him know he was there to talk. To not be afraid. Tony knew what it was like to be afraid.

Didn't everyone? 

His fingers spread wide, reaching out loosely, as if wanting to pull him away from it all, from the tempting isolation, away from becoming a mini Tony Stark. No one wanted that.

He sat, placing his hand dubiously in Tony's, and let him guide him to sit on the couch. Tony smiled slightly.

"So," Tony offered a conversation. He cleared his throat. He softened his expression and relaxed his shoulders.

 _If you're going to do this, do this properly. You have a week. Maybe longer, maybe shorter. You have a week._

"Shoot away."

Peter's drooped eyes raised in confusion.

"Ask me anything you'd like."

He sat back, and waited for him to question him. Peter's hands were dropped to his lap, his shoulders were slumped , his eyes wide and he looked at Tony as if he might bite his head off.

After he collected himself, he hesitated before replying. 

"What going to happen to me?"

His voice cracked. Tony winced.

"Okay."

He began softly, consciously lowering his voice to a warm tone. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what they'd do. Tony didn't _want_ to have Peter leave- but he must, if that was the right thing to do. It is the right thing to do.

"You can't stay here forever, because we aren't your legal guardians and god forbid if we were, we're the fucking Avengers. We're the least child friendly you can get. But that's okay. We will sort out what's going to happen as soon as we can. You don't need to worry about anything. For now, you're safe- that's all that matters. You're okay."

Peter had begun to bite his lip in anxiety, probably the thought of having to leave, to be a burden forced on someone else weighing on his shoulders. 

"Alright."

He paused.

"Do you want me here?"

The question didn't really take Tony aback. He sniffed, weighing out his options before replying carefully.

"Things happen. We got landed with you. At first, it wasn't ideal. It still isn't the most ideal situation. But yes. Yes, I do want you here. I want... to make sure you're okay. And... yeah. But we have to work on it. Isolating yourself, you've barely been out of the room all week. It isn't healthy. You need to... do things. It'll help, I promise."

Peter's mouth twitched into what could have a been a sign of gratitude. He still looked uneasy, but from the tires look on his face, Tony could tell that he wasn't entirely opposed to the idea of doing things. It was just hard sometimes. To get up and out. To want to, to face people. 

But he could help. Hopefully.

"Plus," Tony shrugged, folding his arms, "you've gotta be on your chattiest mood this week or I'm gonna kill myself from boredom, I won't have anyone else to complain to."

"Anyone else?" He asked quizzically.

"Everyone is going away for a while to do some work. Super hero business, you know? Yawn. I'm staying here, because I have important things to be getting on with- and one other person, so they can keep track of me and make sure I don't go kicking my own bucket."

The kid nodded, and Tony was somewhat pleased that he'd stopped staring into his lap and was looking at him with empty eyes. At least he felt like he was being listened to.

"It'll be a good opportunity for you to just... to feel better. No one else around except me and you, someone that's probably gonna be on the other side of the building for a week. And I just felt like it was important," he exasperated. He looked apprehensively at Peter, in hope he'd show some sort of willingness to talk a bit more. He had it in him, he could see it. It had all just sort of fizzed out.

"Important?"

"Yes," Tony said firmly. "We need communication. Let's stop this now, the locking yourself away and not talking to people. I know it's hard. I know. If you need to, then do it. But I know how you'll get better. Just... I'm here. I know I'm nobody to you. Well, technically I am. But just..." he sighed. "I'm always here. And... I care. So don't be afraid of me."

He held his breath as Peter hesitated, processing the words in his mind. Finally, he ran a hand through his hair, sat up a little straighter and nodded slowly, his dark eyes catching the light. Tony smiled in return. 

"I- I can't begin to explain what I feel. Because it's mainly nothing."

Tony didn't say anything. He watched him carefully, silently edging for him to go on. 

"Then, sometimes, it's everything. There's no way out. And I can't change anything. It's happened. And it plays in my head on repeat."

Suddenly, Tony's parents flicked into his mind for a split second. Then they disappeared again.

"I'll try. I want to try."

Tony nodded.

It wasn't that easy. It was never that easy. But it was a stepping stone. He didn't know how it'd work. But it had to. Every extra minute he spent watching Peter's expressions mound into something entirely new, the more Tony seemed to feel like he knew about him. 

Maybe it was magic.

Or maybe, for once, Tony had found something in his life that he genuinely cared about with his whole heart. _A lot._ Not that he'd ever admit it. 

 

 

\-------

"Peter?"

He jerked- his whole body shook with fear as the wave of anxiety hit him, and he knew what was going to come- 

"Hey."

 _Don't focus on the nightmare. Not on the nightmare._

He sucked in a sharp breath and stared wildly into the darkness, until the shape in the doorway faded into view. The heavy weight on his chest threatened to press harder, but it began to ease, and the pain he usually felt wasn't as harsh. 

Tony was standing there, a hand on the door handle, looking straight onto Peter, laying sprawled on the bed and close to hyperventilating.

"Hey. Come with me."

Peter blinked.

"What?"

Squinting, he made out the finger of the figure that beckoned him. Why was he there?

With a heavy breath and an attempt to even put his breathing, he lifted himself painfully from the mattress, and stood slowly from the confines of the sheets.

The cool air hit his face, and he felt suddenly calmer as Tony's face was distinguishable in the darkness. He stood with his arms folded, his eyebrows turned in in a worried frown and a sad smile sitting on his lips.

"Be careful not to be too loud. Don't want to make everyone before their big flight tomorrow."

The adrenaline from the attack seemed to simmered extremely quickly compared to past times. He followed with shaky legs out of the door, and followed the billionaire along the corridor. He wore the jeans he had been wearing the previous day, along with a dirty, slightly oily vest top that let the reactor in his chest emit a bright glow of blue light through, and showed his broad shoulders and stocky form. The anxiety inside Peter seemed to continue to fall, even walking shakily in the dark, and he just stayed focus on Tony as he lead him down the stairs down to what Peter assumed was the garage.

"I thought there was an elevator-"

"Well, you know. Trying to burn off the carbs," he drawled.

Peter might have smiled if he wasn't still incredibly shaky.

He wasn't quite sure why Tony had brought him down to his garage so late at night. Well. He sort of did. He'd woken up from a night terror, and Tony had probably come to get him away from that.

It worked, to some extent. But 'to some extent' was at least better than not worked at all.

He was greeted by the whirring of machines, like last time, the majority of the big room plunged into darkness, but the computer corner lit with a soft light. Tony walked up to his desk area, sitting down and motioning for Peter to do the same.

He couldn't exactly hide the small amount of excitement that the atmosphere gave him. No matter how fucked up he was, how broken and how silly he got over nightmares- he felt _amazed_ to be in Tony Stark's garage, his lab, his real working area, where the iron man suits were probably made, where he lived most of the day- God, that was cool.

He frowned at the older man apprehensively as he sat down, before glancing around the desk. 

"So."

"So?"

"I wanted to ask you something."

"And- I wanted to say thanks," Peter suddenly blurted out. Tony looked surprised, but smirked anyway.

"For what?"

"For the help. For- well. Getting me out of that."

"Don't mention it, kid," he insisted. He looked rough- dirty on his face, the lines in his skin were prominent and bags hung under his eyes like he hadn't slept in weeks. His usually perfectly gelled hair stuck up everywhere and lacked the lift that it usually had. His hands made a grab for a notebook and a pencil from his desk, before setting the notebook in front of him and tucking the pencil behind his ear.

"So- your shooters."

"Yeah?"

"You made them yourself, yeah?"

"Yes."

Tony let out an unexpected laugh- not a snarky or patronising laugh- but an amused, surprised laugh as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

"That's pretty great."

Peter shrugged. "Thanks."

"Okay. Can you show me how to make the web formula?"

Peter's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Why?"

"Ah, you know," Tony waved a hand dismissively. "I'm interested. I'm a scientist. I'm a mechanic- I'm just some guy who likes making stuff. I wanna know how you make your stuff."

"How do I know you're not going to take it and sell it to the government?"

Tony laughed out loud again (most likely hysteria due to sleep deprivation), in response to his attitude. 

"Kid, I basically am the government. And I got all the money I need, don't you worry. Plus, if I had any brains, I'd keep it for myself instead of selling it to the numbskulls who run the government."

The way Tony spoke was intimidating, yet somehow fresh, calming, and carefree. Peter rolled his eyes at the cocky man.

"You want me to- to walk you through how you make my web formula?"

"Yes."

"But you don't need it."

"Yes."

"So... you're doing this for me? Acting kind, acting like you have an interest to make me feel important?"

Tony shook his head, reaching out to put a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"It's not an act, Peter. Trust me. You're very important and I'm most definitely very interested in the sticky white stuff that comes out of you when you get into spandex." He smirked at himself, and Peter let out a breathy laugh. What an idiot. "I say that joke," he mused,"and then realise you are fifteen. So let's quickly move on."

Swiftly, he loosened his grip, and twisted himself on his seat to face the work bench. Clapping his hands together he flashed Peter a smile.

"What.?"

"Come on then. What do we need? I want to be as evidently awesome as Spider-Man is."

Peter felt a rush of warm ride through him.

"Well, for the shooters... have you got any nickel-plated annealed brass?"

"Oh, Pete, have I heck."

He grinned wildly. 

"Come and check out this shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am VERY excited for the next chapter. It may take a while to come out, I apologise, but it'll be worth it, I promise. It's gonna be reeeaal good. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, tell me what you liked about this chapter :) it's gonna pick up a lot once Tony starts making the effort and doing more stuff while the others have gone. Hopefully it'll get better and not worse, oh dear let's see how this goes
> 
> Catch you later lads


	17. I Trust You

Trust was a very strange thing.

It was so hard to gain, yet so easy to have in someone. To gain someone's trust seemed like the biggest chore in the world- Yet to Peter, it felt as if all Tony had to do to gain his trust was to look at him a certain way. 

He felt like every moment in the garage, he had to do something, he felt a pressure in himself to act a certain way, to live up to the great Tony Stark's expectations to be trusted. It felt like so much work. The more time he spent with him, the more he was pulled out of his emotionless, trance- like state, the more he started to realise that 

_Fuck. I'm living in a building with The Avengers. And I'm in Tony Stark's garage._

So gaining his trust was something that he tried to do almost unconsciously.

But for Peter to trust Tony? 

He didn't, to begin with. Then Tony began to change. Then Peter didn't need to think twice. The two hours they sat, side by side, tinkering over Peter's own creation, he learnt a lot- one thing being that he trusted Tony Stark.

And he didn't even need to do anything to gain it.

Tony just needed to sit and be cool.

As Peter had written out a list from memories of chemicals he needed for the formula, Tony had rummaged around his garage, looking in high cupboards and desks for all the right equipment. Peter was filled with a strange sensation of pride showing him his invention, taking him through the all the steps carefully, trying to justify his choices as he realised that he probably didn't need half of the chemicals he used. His formula was always a work in progress and he wasn't really sure what was the stuff that made it work and what didn't- but Tony listened intently, nodding in all the right places and responding in the right ways. He hung onto Peter's every word, muttering back instructions under his breath and working away at the solution with childish excitement.

 _The_ Tony Stark. 

The hours past and they finished, the formula packed into micro cartridges that Peter had spare from his suit and a brand new web shooter on the desk in front of the them, with a few loose wires and a missing plate. But functional all the same.

Tony's eyes narrowed in concentration, biting his lip unconsciously as his fingers pulled intricate wires together with a pair of pliers. He looked slightly ill, he noticed. He picked up his irregular breathing at certain points, and clocked how pale he'd become- but he still held the same enthusiasm in his brown eyes. Peter watched over him, wide eyed- he was tired, so _incredibly_ tired- but it didn't matter anymore. His previously empty head had been flooded with inspiration- technology, science, chemistry, Spider-Man, Iron Man, everything. It lit his mind up like a Christmas tree, and from the start of the night, every word he spoke seemed to get louder and more confident and every compliment Tony have made him smile with his whole face. 

It had just all suddenly gone temporarily. He'd been whisked into a bubble that he most definitely belonged in.

Tony seemed impressed. He sat back in the early hours of the morning, slapping a hand on Peter's knee playfully.

"You're something else, aren't you?"

He smiled meekly.

"I'm not that good. Well- I dunno, I get high scores in my tests at school, but in general I really only specialise in web shooters. I couldn't, like- make an Iron Man suit or anything. I'm not-"

"Yeah, yeah, keep talking, kid," Tony chuckled. Rubbing his eyes, he groaned lightly. It almost sounded like a grunt of pain. His face was still pale. He looked washed out, half dead, now that Peter thought about it. Maybe he wasn't sleeping well either.

"Are you okay..?"

He shrugged it off. He exhaled deeply before wincing, not being able to conceal the obvious sign of pain from Peter. He tried to play it off with a cough.

"I'm fine. Just- chest pains."

Peter looked dubious.

"You sure..? Do you get them often? With the... you know-"

"Arc reactor?" He mused. He raised a bushy eyebrow and inspected the kid with obvious amusement. "It's not a curse word, kid. I'm not, like, sensitive about it or anything. Don't sweat it."

"Sorry, okay," he nodded. "Well- the arc reactor, does it still hurt?"

Slowly, Tony straightened himself in his seat, looking visibly more pale by the minute. He smirked.

"Erm- sort of. So, basically- ah. I have been working on a prototype. It's made out of a different type of metal, that is stronger, so it's less likely to break, get smashed, ripped out my chest or what-not. The usual."

Peter seriously doubted the situation was as casual as Tony made it seem. He frowned in confusion, edging Tony to continue. 

"So this is the prototype. In me. I was testing it to check the metal is not toxic and the fitting is good but- but I have a feeling that something-" he grunted again as he reaches under his top to hold the reactor- "isn't right. There... _might,_ be an issue with the casing, because I'm pretty sure that I haven't actually fitted it properly and the attachment I edited earlier has broken off. Which... isn't good."

The information was harder to digest than expected. Peter blinked. 

"Is- is it okay?"

Tony just stared back at him pathetically.

"Well. No. I don't know. It's all good. I'll just go and check if-"

As he straightened his legs to stand up and rose from the seat, he took a sudden sharp intake of breath that made Peter jump. He shot up from his chair, watching the man grin falsely, gritting his teeth and hissing. 

Ah, shit. What happened? Is he really hurt? What should he do? Is it serious?

"Mr- Stark.? Are you okay? Is it really bad?"

If there was any colour left in his face previously, there definitely wasn't then. He grimaced, his face a ghostly white. His hand rested over his chest, which was rising and falling rapidly.

"I'll be good. Don't you worry your cotton socks- I just think there _may_ be a rogue piece of metal lodged in between my organs so that pretty good. And- the casing isn't magnetic. So that's great. Great. Cool. WHOO." He stepped away quickly before Peter could protest, and crossed the room in long strides before motioning Peter to follow. 

"Do you need anyone?" He desperately asked.

"No," Tony insisted. The pain seemed to only worsen the more he moved. He pulled out from the side of wall a chair, similar to a dentist's, with machines and a side table laid with scalpels, needles and tweezers. It looked like something from a horror movie.

But, it must be for Tony's arc reactor... surgery. Peter could only watch wide eyed as Tony got himself onto the bed, and began hastily taking his shirt off and attaching wires to his skin. Underneath the side table on a shelf was a plastic tub that contained what could only be the other arc reactor. This was crazy. Iron Man. Real life Iron Man, Tony Stark, trying to save his own life on his own in a garage. Insane.

"What do you need?"

Peter stood tall and determinedly, watching over Tony. He was still breathing deeply, as if trying to focus on the source of the pain and drive it away with his head. His dark eyes jumped around as he slowed his breaths, and held still until the pain seemed to subside.

With a cough, he turned his attention back to Peter.

"Hey. So- I need you to help me out. Let me look at your hands."

"Wh-what?" He stuttered. "What do you-"

Tony took is hands in his own, turning them over and running his fingers quickly over Peter's before nodding.

"Yes. Small. They'll do. Okay, you gotta help me. You're a scientist-"

"I'm fifteen," he interrupted. He felt a lump form in his throats that he couldn't get rid of- where the hell was this going...

"Yes, but you're a scientist," Tony expressed with earnest. "See, you're clever. You have steady hands and a steady mind. I saw you working. So now, you're gonna help me replace this reactor. Okay?"

_Oh fuck no-_

"Holy shit-"

"-Language-"

" _Mr Stark_ -"

He shook his head in disbelief. Hell no. Hell no could he switch out Tony's literal heart- he'd kill him, he'd screw it all up. That'd be someone else's death on his hands. No more.

"Please, Pete. You're the only one right now."

"I-"

He bit his lip, looking straight into the pleading eyes of the billionaire. 

This was crazy. 

He tried to ignore the beat of his heart, that had suddenly became a lot more irregular and seemed to make his whole body shake.

"I- I don't know what to do- what if I hurt you? What if-"

"I'll walk you through it."

"But what if I-"

"Hey, Pete."

The corner of Tony's mouth rose in a reassuring smile. 

"It's fine. It'll be fine. I trust you."

"You..."

He didn't understand how. But if he was putting maybe even his life in Peter's hands, then he knew he couldn't be pissing around. He was right there- laid down attached to various machines, vulnerable and shirtless with the arc reactor- his literal heart, the thing that kept him alive, until then- out in the open. And Tony trusted Peter to literally determine his life or death.

He shuddered. But he had to, right..? If no one else could do it- and he was hurt-

"Right. Fine- okay. Tell me what to do," he said. 

Tony let out a sigh of relief.

"Shit- okay. You're a clever kid. You get how this thing works."

"Well- sort of, I've read up on it and-"

"Cool, ,cool, cool," he sat up slightly in the chair with a wince, leaning over to arrange the equipment on the table. He grabbed for the arc reactor on the lower shelf, handing it to Peter with a firm nod.

"This," he panted, "needs to go in here." He pointed to the glowing piece of metal stuck in his chest with a determined stare.

Peter tried to nod, and not look like he was about to throw up everywhere. The air seemed to grow thicker around him- yet he knew what he had to do, and stop closer to Tony eagerly with his hands clenched into fists.

"Okay. I need to replace your reactor."

"Yes. Okay- everything I say I'm gonna simplify down for you- so, you're also going to have to remove that piece of metal. You don't have long. But it's okay, it won't take long. I've taken drugs that will help me for as long as possible- but the reactor powers the battery that keeps the shrapnel from going in my heart. Okay? So you need to be fast. Because when it's out, I won't have as much time. The chest plate has a back up supply of energy to keep the magnetic field activated, but especially with this design it won't hold for long. SO. Let's get started."

He grinned slightly crazily, as if he was just on a cooking show instead of at risk of death.

Peter tried to put that to the back of his mind.

Tony pressed his hands to his chest, pressing and twisting the reactor until it hissed and came out of his body. He winced, his dark eyebrows knitting together in concentration.

"Nice. Okay- I'll hold this, you get in there. Unplug the wire attached to the reactor from the metal plate. You see?"

"Right."

Peter reached over with shaking hands, his head whirring with anxiety as he looked into his chest. It looked like a mixture of organised metal that was built deep into his body, a mixture of foul smelling fluid, and flesh that was raw and red, and made him keel backwards slightly.

"Shit- ah. Okay. Right. Plug."

He could see it- he sunk his hand into the cold metal cylinder, and with his thin fingers found the end of the wire. 

"Okay- it's out."

"Wonderful, would you look at that."

The man took a deep breath before taking the reactor in his hands and chucking it across the room. Peter jumped as metal hit the wall.

"Okay. Grab some tweezers. You need to find that piece. Or multiple. Or fix whatever's happened. Look at it, tell me what's wrong. Don't be scared of hurting me, I'm having the time of my life."

"Rodger that," he replied weakly.

He took the tweezers gingerly from the side, wondering how the hell on Earth Tony could be as calm as he was. The cylinder down into his body was clean and smooth, until it ended, and Peter saw almost instantly the shiny piece of metal almost piercing the tissue. It wasn't too deep- but the more he looked at it is disbelief, the more sick he began to feel, and quickly remembered what he was suppose to be doing.

"It's here. It isn't lodged in, but it's quite small. But I can get it."

"Good man," Tony smiled calmly. "Good. You can do it. See- you're good, don't even sweat it."

He _was_ sweating it, but he clutched the tweezers in between two fingers all the same, and holding a calmly palm on Tony's chest to steady himself, he reached in and made an attempt to lift the piece ever so careful away from his body. 

"Ahhhfuckshitsonofafuckingbitch-"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeeeep," he responded, his eyes watering slightly and his body tensed. "It's just not very nice having someone prodding inside you while you're conscious. Even when it's Spider-Man. No offence."

He tried again, to get under it and get a grip. It was hard. The metal was thin as well as small, and it shifted dangerously further out of his reach as he gritted his teeth is concentration. 

"Come _on_ -"

Liquid seeped between his fingers and his hand ached from being pressed into such an awkward position- but finally, he got the tweezers around the metal, and grinned suddenly.

"Got it, Mr Stark- got it."

"YES, PETER," Tony cheered suddenly, a big toothy smile of relief and maybe even pride making his eyes scrunch up. "Okay, when you take it out, don't touch the sides with any metal. Unless you wanna kill me, which I wouldn't mind cause I probably deserve it."

Not in the current state to question Tony's words, he carefully, steady handedly lifted the metal, making sure not to touch the sides, just like Tony said. 

And it was out.

"There."

"Look at that little asshole," Tony chuckled humorously, holding out his palm. Peter dropped it into his hand, and he looked at it briefly before watching it drop on the floor. 

Adrenaline that was previously pumping through Peter's veins felt suddenly at bay, and he felt an unfamiliar sense of pride as he realised he'd just saved Tony Stark's life.

Wow.

"Last thing. Just plug this one straight into the same plate as you took the other out of. Here you go. Do your thing, Spider-Man. Save some lives, here we go."

Their eyes locked for a split second as Tony handed Peter the other arc reactor, Tony's reassuring pools of brown making Peter smile softly. A nod of reassurance. 

It's all good.

He reached down into his chest once more, feeling around the squelchy fluid for the plate. He found it, plugging the wire in hastily before pulling his hand out in triumph.

"Phew. Oh god."

He moved the wire into the cylinder, following with the reactor that he twisted and pressed into Tony's chest, just had he'd previously done.

All anxiety rolled off him as Tony gasped, taking in a fresh breath of air and jumping up from the back rest. His eyes suddenly came to life, shining with excitement in the light.

"I can't believe you made me do that," Peter let out a long sigh, falling back on to a stool and looking at Tony is disbelief. "I can't believe I just- what did I even just do..."

"You just did that- . And _Well_ , too. When Pepper changed it last time, she managed to send me into cardiac arrest, so you've done a pretty great job there. That was fun."

Fun was either an overstatement or an understatement. Peter found himself laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Tony chuckled too.

"Wait- but didn't Pepper leave the company's few months ago..? I read somewhere."

Tony shrugged. "Well, yeah. Back when she was around."

"But... how did you put the tester one in then?"

"Well, it's not hard to get a mirror and some robots to help you out on your self surgery."

Oh no.

He did _not._

"Tony!" Peter shouted, standing abruptly. "You mean I didn't need to do that? You could have just done it yourself?"

He sat up straighter, swinging his feet off the side of the chair to address Peter face to face, his expression soft, yet still somewhat amused. Also, he could have sworn the kid had just used his actual name instead of 'Mr Stark'.

"Well. It's safer for someone else to do it. And since you were here-"

"But what if I'd have screwed up?" 

Peter's voice was raised, he felt his words rumbling through him and he tried to process the stupid man's actions. He put that all on him? For what? He could have killed him. He could be dead. Just like May.

He felt drained.

Tony looked drained. His eyes never lost the gentleness they possessed whilst looking at Peter. He shrugged again, almost sadly. 

"But you didn't. You saved my life, you get that?"

"But, but-" Peter spluttered in despair- "why did you let me?"

"Because I trust you."

A silence suddenly settled over the two. Peter's hard stare melted into something else, something softer, as Tony tapped his arc reactor unconsciously. 

Oh.

What had he done to gain Tony's trust? He hadn't done anything. He couldn't form a reason that made any sense in his head. He faltered. 

"Hey."

He looked back at the older man.

"Yeah.?

"You called me Tony."

He was smirking slightly. He had an air of pride about him that Peter hadn't been able to place until he realised that maybe, he was proud of him. Who knew.

"Yeah. I did."

Tony raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I trust you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LEAVE YOUR COMMENTS BELOW :)) tell me what you thought of this chapter. I'm sorry I don't know much about the arc reactor and inside it, I've tried my best, sorry if the description is a big vague. 
> 
> But I'm so proud of this chapter. I'm sorry it took so long but it's out now :) o thought it was just the perfect scenario to build that trust between the two, to get them more comfortable with eachother and for Peter to begin to realise that he IS a hero, and he can do things right, and that what happened with May wasn't his fault.
> 
> Thank you so much for the feedback. I'll get a new chapter up ASAP. Thanks for reading :)


	18. To Dad Or Not To Dad

It was after Peter fell asleep that Tony realised it was 7 am. The other guys were supposed to be leaving in the afternoon, which was good, because there wasn't a bone in his body that held enough energy for him to go up and socialise. They were probably all still sleeping.

Instead, he sat by the couch.

It was an old couch- a pretty expensive couch, but old nonetheless, tattered and worn will various stains all over it. Shortly after arc reactor madness, Peter had collapsed onto it, his entire body sinking into the couch before shutting down and falling into a deep sleep. Tony couldn't blame him. He didn't really expect anything less. 

He sat on his chair, staring plainly at the screen in the air. Stumped. Overworked. Overwork was a term he rarely used- because it was hardly ever a thing. But he truly felt that if he tried to move anything he might fall apart.

He pushed against the floor with the end of his foot, turning the chair around slowly to face Peter. He lay on his side, his legs curled up by his stomach and his arms hanging off the couch in front of him. He breathed softly, steadily- and Tony felt a warmness inside of him to see the boy at peace. His soft features melted into calmness, there were no creases on his forehead or imperfections to show anything bad had ever happened. His tangled, mousey hair fell in front of his innocent features and Tony felt as if he had to fight to resist the urge to reach over and tuck it behind an ear. 

Ew. Tony almost laughed at himself.

He couldn't really take his eyes away from Peter, though.

Of course he trusted Peter.

He did. The kid had a heart of gold. His morals were good, his ambitions pure. He was kind. He was strong. How could Tony possibly think otherwise? He put his life at risk constantly to help people he'd never met before. He sacrificed a normal life to improve other's- with no credit at all, with none of it ever benefitting him. There was a solid half of the population of New York that viewed Spider-Man as a 'menace', that believed the bad press, that shunned him away for doing what he did- Tony didn't really blame them, since he thought the same in the beginning. But the be found out who he was. A fifteen year old kid, who put everyone else before himself, being shot at by the police. A selfless person, getting beaten up everyday in return for saving someone's life. A boy who'd lost everything and was giving it all to everyone else, stumbling home, bleeding and alone. He'd done everything, but he'd got back nothing.

 _Nothing._

So as self absorbed and narcissistic as Tony made out he was, of course he trusted him. He trusted Peter Parker with everything he had. And he wanted nothing more than to give him whatever he could, because he felt a deep ache of guilt that told him he'd never deserve all the riches he had. Especially when Peter Parker had fuck all.

But Peter didn't know a fraction about the complications in arc reactor technology. He wasn't a surgeon. He was just a kid. As much as Tony trusted him to do his best- there was a solid 50/50 chance that he'd freak out, something would slip or by chance, the metal would go deeper. A very big chance that Tony could be dead.

He felt sick just recalling it. What the hell was he thinking?

H was always reckless. He'd gotten even more so since New York, until he was literally flying with his eyes shut and playing his cards by chance. But he couldn't. 

Not with Peter. Killing _himself-_ that would be on him. But letting _Peter kill him?_

That surgery was a gamble. A game that could end either way. If it had ended one way, that'd be another death Peter would consider on his hands. 

He bit his lip feverishly. 

Tony could have hit himself for being so stupid.

The lights in the garage began to glow brighter as the morning sun rose. But still, Tony didn't have any motivation to sleep. Why bother anyway? It's the literal morning now. Jeez.

Especially not now. He'd been working on something important. Not something physical, that he'd been tinkering with and building- but something on the computer he'd been working on for a few days now. Something he'd been trying to do for a long time, but could never achieve it for himself. But he was slowly getting closer, every extra hours he stayed coding he got another step closer, and that meant another step closer to Peter. It was important to him.

He stopped then to watch Peter, because it still marvelled him how he'd managed to finally get more words out of him that 'hi,' and 'get out' and 'I don't care'. He was busy just taking him in, head busy with thoughts, when FRIDAY's voice addressed him in her usual sharp tone.

"Incoming call from Clint Barton, sir."

"Pull him up."

He spun around away from Peter to face the desk, where Clint's face had just appeared on a hologram. He was red faced and sweating, his blonde hair sticking up and his breathing heavy, panting like a dog.

"Clint, hey. Where the fuck are you?"

Clint let out a forced laugh with a roll of his eyes. He was inside what looked like a tent, and Tony hear people talking in the background. 

"I'm in Brazil, you dickhead," he shouted incredulously. "Where have you been, sat with your thumbs up your arse and plugs in your ears?"

Tony frowned. "You're already there? But you were leaving-"

"We said we were leaving early in the morning," Clint told him. "We left at 1. We hoped you'd have woken up to bid us farewell."

"Ah." He scratched the back of his neck, shrugging. "Sorry about that. I didn't realise."

"You never do. Anyway- it's hot, we are just setting up- just making sure you're not dead, also, we left you Banner, so he should be somewhere-"

"Why hasn't he been to see me yet?" Tony pouted, a mock whine in his voice. 

"I think he thought you might be finally sleeping."

"Sheesh, no need to call me out on it."

"Hey- at least _someone's_ getting sleep."

Clint raised his eyebrows with a small smile, and his eyes wandered to the sofa behind Tony. Tony sighed, and rolled his chair over view of Peter's face before Clint could start taking the piss. Too late.

 

"You two make a right pair."

He sighed, resting his chin in his hands and giving Clint a dubious look. 

"How?"

"Well, you both isolate yourself and are reluctant to find an answer. The only difference is, Peter doesn't try to hide it- and god knows he'll sort himself out one day." He smiled knowingly. "Maybe he'll help sort you out too."

"Don't make this into some kind of sappy family story," Tony scoffed. He honestly couldn't be bothered with a life lesson from Clint, and talking about Peter felt vulnerable, like he was opening his literal chest again, and he didn't like doing that.

Though he did it for Peter. He let him in the _literal_ hole in his chest. Huh.

"Well," Clint began slowly, seeing the disgruntled expression on Tony's face. "You obviously like him. Make the most of this week. You obviously mean a lot more to him than you think. And he means a lot more to you."

As much as Tony knew deep down the second point was probably correct, he still avoided Clint's eyes, spun slightly on his chair and let his eyes zone out onto a patch of wall. The closer he felt he was getting to touching on feelings, the more inclined he felt to end the call and go grab a bottle of whiskey. And he really didn't want to do that in front of Peter. 

He looked back then, to check on the sleeping kid- to see Peter sitting upright, red eyed and hair tangled, squinting across at Tony and the big face of Clint that looked over them. 

"Oh... ah- er- morning." 

"Would you look at that!" Clint grinned, smiling widely at Peter's confused expression. "Hey Pete. Just talking to your dad, don't mind-"

"Clint, you should be glad you're not here right now because I'd be choking you," Tony growled.

"And that's the reason why I'm glad you're not actually his dad," he finished with a smirk etched to his face. "Also why I'm glad I'm not actually there, as much as I want daddy to choke me."

"I'm hanging up," Tony sighed with annoyance. He gave Clint a last dark look before raising a hand to end the call.

"Wait-" Clint shouted quickly. "Hey, hey hey- before you go, you should probably take Peter to the gym, to train. For something to do. Nat was going to the other day but never got round to it. Pete, you wanna go training?"

The two men looked around expectantly at Peter, who had just sat and watched the exchange between the two in silence. He hesitated, fiddling with his hand anxiously before replying. 

"Y-yeah. That would be cool."

"Cool," Clint replied. "You should take him, Stark, prove your great dadness."

"No. I have better things to do. I'll catch you never, Barton."

He groaned, shutting of Clint's smug expression by disconnecting the call quickly. He fell back in a slump in his chair with a heavy sigh, before turning his attention to Peter.

"We aren't doing that then..?" He asked quietly- not really disappointed, just slightly confused, most likely because of Clint being Clint. Tony groaned.

Well, he didn't _want_ to. Doing that would sort of prove his somewhat affection for the kid, almost mean he'd lost again Clint. Which was stupid. But it was how he felt.

Win or lose? 

He sighed. No. He wasn't a fucking dad.

"Yes," he said abruptly. "Get your shit together. I'm taking you training."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like this chapter? It's pretty short, I had some time so I thought it was worth writing :) what are you guys' thoughts on how I'm writing Tony's feelings towards Peter? I feel like I've moved it along too fast, but I hope it's still cute all the same. Dad Tony will start coming out of his shell a bit in the next few chapters. watch out for some Spider-Man action in the next chapter. Thanks for reading!


	19. Do You Know What A Hug Is?

Tony had been in the gym before. (Obviously. He wasn't that useless).

He used to go a lot. Fairly frequently in fact, though that was more when he cared about himself and keeping healthy. He'd go a few times a week, to just stay in shape and maintain a bit of muscle. 

Then Iron Man happened- and he started to slot training into his daily routine. He continued When the Avengers formed too, but over time, his motivation left him and he went maybe a few times a month, if he was feeling decent. He would probably have a pot belly and a much chubbier exterior if not for the action he got in the Iron Man suits, or the fact he didn't eat half as much as he should. 

So, yes. Tony was familiar with the training facility connection to the building. But he hadn't seen it like this before. 

He sat near the double door entrance to the vast gymnasium, on a bench next to Bruce Banner, who watched the scene before him with just as much fascination as Tony did. Peter Parker, the kid he'd not seen so energised since the day of the fire, was dressed back in the sleek, tight fitting Spider-Man costume with the mask to complete it, flying across the walls and through the air as if it were second nature to him. It was hard to believe he was fifteen. Peter seemed so different to Spider-Man. He seemed so unsure and small in Tony's presence, shy and staying in secluded areas. Bright, but quiet. Tony supposed the joy had been knocked out of him since it all happened.

But Spider-Man- shit, the kid loved himself ten times over in that suit. This somehow gave Tony an underlying sense of sadness as he watched him. At the same time, relief. Maybe he hadn't been lost. His slight figure sprinted across walls before jumping to the next, his body might as well have been made out of elastic. He jumped across blocks and swung over bars, completely bringing the space around him alive as he didn't seem to stop moving. He was alive. He was electric. He was on fire. 

Maybe not on fire. 

Tony decided not to think about fire. 

He didn't realise that his eyes had been following Spider-Man so carefully until Bruce nudged his shoulder.

"That's quite a kid you got there."

Tony tried not to roll his eyes.

"Not my kid," He muttered gruffly.

"Yeah, I know. I wasn't trying to be patronising or anything," Bruce replied in amusement. "Just saying that... he's a character. No need to get so gritty with me."

"Yeah. Sorry."

He could have sworn he saw Bruce smirk knowingly before he turned his attention back to Peter. 

He sat in a pair of trousers he was always wearing, and a faded t-shirt that he hadn't, for some reason, thrown away yet. Bruce seemed to like old clothes- they had all the money in world available for new ones, and Bruce just didn't seem to think anything of it all. He looked strangely out of place in a gym- his glasses that he wore to read the papers on his lap were perched crooked on the end of his nose. His curly brown hair was slightly tangled as if he didn't bother to brush it that morning. Didn't really look like he'd be up for any sort of task- but he seemed perfectly willing to go with Tony when he had asked for assistance with Peter. After some persuasion.

"He's a teenager, I'm sure you can handle a teenager. Even you."

"Yeah, well, I don't doubt I can too."

"Great. Sooo... you're asking me to come why?"

I mean, it was probably to prove a point against Clint and make the whole situation less domestic. But he wasn't going to say that.

"I don't- don't know his capabilities. He hasn't been eating well- he could die or some shit. I don't know, you're the doctor. I just don't feel like letting a probably mentally unstable kid with superhuman abilities swing around a gym without some sort of professional on hand."

"Anddd... that's it?"

"Yes."

"You sure there's no other-"

"I'm pretty sure, Banner- you've been left to babysit me, haven't you? They don't think I can function well by myself- What if I told you I was having uncontrollable baby urges to put shit in my mouth that I could choke on? I think I need my babysitter. Yeah- also, forget that last point, came out very wrong. Actually this whole analogy isn't very PG-"

"Jesus. You're going to be the cause of my death, Tony."

"Well, it wouldn't be the first death on my hands. Get your shit together, we're going to the gym." 

Bruce shut up after that. Tony supposed it wasn't the easiest thing to hold a conversation after his weird mood made him shoot a self-degrading comment that was worst of all, probably true. He was used to accidentally putting people in awkward situations. 

They sat for about half an hour, mostly in silence. Bruce wasn't really too talkative. He wasn't particularly shy, Tony gathered he just enjoyed his own company. But he was glad he was there anyway. He'd always got along with Bruce- Bruce could put up with his snarky, and most of the time shitty attitude and levelled Tony's big-head with his own wisdom. They bounced of each other really well. Tony was nearly kind of okay that someone had stayed at the complex with him, and was nearly happy that it was Bruce and not someone like Steve.

"You good?" He looked up at Peter, who came walking from across the room back to them, his mask in his hand. His forehead shone with sweat, which was expected- but his face was kind of pale. His chocolate eyes darted from Bruce to Tony.

"Yeah," he panted. But Tony wasn't too sure. 

"You look ill. You sure you're feeling okay?"

"I think... I just.."

The words faltered Peter slightly, and he paused, swaying on his feet. Bruce shot Tony a worried side glance. 

Before he could sit down by Tony on the bench, his legs suddenly collapsed from underneath him, and he fell nearly comically to the ground. Tony jumped- so did Bruce, by the sound of it- and both men rushed to his side automatically.

"Peter-"

The name sort of just fell out of Tony's mouth for some reason. A wave of worry washed over him-

_Is he dying?_

_Has he got Ebola or some shit?_

_HAS HE BEEN DRINKING?_

_For god's sake,_ he told himself, _don't be stupid._ He's fine. Probably just passed out.

"I called it," He managed to get out gruffly, lifting Peter's head and shoulders from the ground until he was in a sitting position. "Peter.? Are you okay? Can you hear me?" 

His head rolled back for a second, until his eyes flickered open and be blinked a few times, looking lost.

"Wha- whatjus-"

"Don't-" Bruce warned him suddenly as he tried to push himself from off the ground. "You might be still dizzy. You just fainted for a second there, that's all- don't worry yourself." 

Peter gave a short breath, and slumped back into Tony's arm that supported the most of his weight. Tony watched as his chest rose and fell evenly, though he noticed his legs shaking a little bit, along with his hands. He still looked really clammy. 

Tony patted him awkwardly on the back once, before backing up to give him some more space. He looked scarily pale- it freaked him out a bit. 

"Why did Caspar the friendly ghost here faint, then? You don't feel okay, do you? Tell Bruce what's wrong."

"I'm okay," Peter muttered again. Tony inwardly cursed at how fucking awkward kids could be.

"Bruce is a doctor you know- he can help you out, don't be awkward. Tell the nice green monster your symptoms."

"That'll be quite enough of that," Bruce rolled his eyes. "How much have you eaten today, Peter?"

He squinted, looking at Bruce dubiously as if he were trying to work out if he'd ever seen him before.

"...Coco Pops?"

Bruce shot a look at Tony, who just shrugged.

"Don't start on me with your healthy eating shit- Coco Pops are great, you got your carbs, add the milk you got your dairy, add the bowl and it's full of fun-"

"I wasn't worrying about the sugar contents of Coco Pops you idiot," The doctor groaned, and Peter managed to crack smile. "Actually," he stated matter-of-a-factly, "I think Peter needs to be more vocal about what he needs. Looking at what he's doing, his metabolism must be extremely high and he must need more to eat than the average person, especially before exercise. He's got to have been aware of that."

That would make sense. Tony looked down at the kid with sharp eyes- Peter's own met them before looking away quickly. Kinda looking guilty.

"Well? Were you?"

There was a short silence before he nodded slowly.

"Yeah."

Tony snorted.

"Didn't think to tell me? It's not an issue, you know."

His mop of brown, tangled hair fell over his eyes as he looked down timidly and fidgeted with his hands.

"Dunno. I just didn't want to bother you."

Tony decided there and then that he'd have to sort out that issue. How hard was it to say, "bitch, I'm hungry, lets order take out." ? Especially for a teenager. Peter just simply didn't seem to be the normal teenager. And it made Tony pretty annoyed- if not sad, because he didn't like the thought of him suffering in silence.

He scrunched his noes up in visible disapproval.

"Right. Get your ass up, we're getting you a KFC bitch."

 

 

___

 

 

They left the gym, Bruce trailing behind Tony and Peter, suspiciously quiet as they exited the hall and Tony put an arm around Peter's shoulders.

"I don't want you to fall over on me."

"Understandable, I guess," Peter sniffed. "I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that. It's taking years off my life."

After a big lunch of a slightly squished sandwich, a bag of salt and vinegar crisps, a sausage roll and a million cocktail sausages, Tony motioned for Peter to follow him to his garage. Tony was somewhat surprised that Pete hadn't complained about the lack of KFC, but it was the best he could do. They couldn't exactly wait for that long, Peter was practically starving, quite literally, but he hoped the sausage rolls would suffice. They weren't bad sausage rolls- he wasn't a savage, and he could definitely afford high end sausage rolls. Besides, Peter was lucky there was anything in the house at all. He practically lived off coffee.

When Peter seemed satisfied, and not on the verge of death, they went down the stairs into the cool glow of Tony's set up that he hadn't turned off. He sat down in front of the big screen, leaning back casually and motioning briefly at Peter to do the same. Peter complied, if a little hesitantly, and perched himself on his usual stool.

Silence was thick for a moment. Tony tried to arrange his thoughts and do something- anything, maybe praise Peter on his effort that day, ask him how he was holding up. But suddenly, he felt the reality swoop over him as he turned wearily to the sweaty teenager in red and blue. He had to find him somewhere to go.

He inwardly curse himself a million times over.

He hadn't meant... for _this_ to happen. For these... feelings. He questioned if he wanted Peter to go.

Yes.

_No._

Yeah. He belonged somewhere else. He sure as hell didn't belong there. Not really. He needed somewhere safe, and sustainable, and stable. Was Tony any of those things? 

Ha, was he heck.

"It's really time you started taking care of yourself."

The teenager sniffed stubbornly. 

"Is it?"

Tony swivelled round in his chair to look at him incredulously. 

"Taking that tone, are we now? Since when did you get all teenagery with me?"

Tony could of sworn he saw a little mischievous smirk before Peter looked at his feet.

"Yes, kid. Yourself is always the top priority."

Peter's head snapped up, meeting Tony's eyes with his own cheeky expression and his jaw set.

"That's a little rich coming from you, isn't it?"

Darkly, his eyes narrowed.

"You better stop that clever talk. Do you know who I am?"

"Yeah, I do- you're the guy that I haven't actually seen eat much while I've been here, who's telling me to look after myself when he's staying up all night, not getting enough sleep."

Tony was stunned for a second. He- wasn't technically _wrong._ He just wasn't expecting the cheeky attitude to blossom so fast. He couldn't lie- he was almost relieved, it felt refreshing hearing the kid stand his ground a bit after days of quiet. 

He was at a slight loss for word. He scratched his neck doubtfully, watching the boy almost shrivel, as if recognising he probably shouldn't have said what he did. 

"I- I'm sorry Mr Stark, I just- I dunno, I've been noticing a lot, and I just don't think it's- it's very healthy, to, uh- y' know-"

"How do you know I don't get enough sleep, huh"

He watched with a smirk as Peter went slightly pink.

"Uh- reasons."

Was the kid checking up on him with FRIDAY?

Ha. What a funny concept.

He sighed, rolling his chair back and folding his arms across his body. Peter was somehow showing signs of caring about his well being. Why, Tony really didn't know. Maybe he was grateful for the suit? Something else? Hell, they'd basically kidnapped him. He definitely wouldn't be grateful for himself. Yet Peter Parker was kind and surprisingly observant. Maybe too observant. He'd have to have a word with FRIDAY.

He hesitated. He wanted to show Peter something. Something he'd been working on nearly non-stop- something that would explain to him why he wasn't sleeping. That he was busy. He had work to do, right? Busy, busy, busy. 

But he couldn't admit out loud that he actually felt pretty nervous.

He swivelled on his chair to face the hologram keyboard in front of him, and slammed a few keys before motioning to Peter.

"Hey. C'mere."

Peter came to stand next to him curiously, his hand resting on the arm of Tony's chair. Tony opened a few folders, sorted around until he found what he was looking for, punching a few lines of code into the system, then sitting up in his seat, clearing his throat before addressing no-one in particular in a deep, projected voice.

"Hey. One two, One two."

Suddenly, echoing around them joined another voice in reply.

"Good afternoon, Tony."

His eyes flicked up to Peter's expectantly. He turned to Tony, a frown etched onto his face.

The voice was clear, soft- a woman's voice, like FRIDAY, yet not at all. It wasn't at all robotic or sharp, or even that odd sounding. It was quiet, with a soothing American accent. The way it said 'Tony' seemed as if it were addressing a friend.

"Say something."

Peter stared, puzzled.

"Why? What is it?"

"Just say hello," Tony persisted, biting the inside of his cheek. _Please work._

Peter hesitated, before gingerly saying a small, "hello..?"

"Hello, Peter."

Peter's confused expression split into a small smile.

"Hey, she knows my name."

"That," Tony explained with a nod, "is because of the voice recognition. That I coded. It's pretty in depth stuff- she can- or at least will, when I'm done- will be able to read face expression and tone of voice to react differently, but not only that- she's going to be aware of if you're addressing her or not dependent on the context of the situation she sees and hears through the cameras and speaker programmed to FRIDAY's hard drive only- of course, it's nowhere near done, but- yeah. What do you think..?"

Peter just looked confused again as he blinked down at Tony.

"So... you're making another AI? ...Why?"

He laced his fingers together under his chin, asking himself the same question. Why..?

"Well... I wasn't happy with FRIDAY. She's not my best work. And I just... wanted something to make you feel at home. And since you've came, I just- whatever, I don't know- I've been able to get it right. Kind of. Do you like it? Her voice..? Is it better than FRIDAY?"

He didn't notice he'd been tapping his foot against the floor until he looked down. Only something he did when he was on edge. He shrugged.

Peter was still stood, looking into space, seemingly in deep thought. He blinked, before looking back up at Tony in surprise.

"This... is for me?"

Tony felt his face heating up.

Oh no. None of that.

"Well- I mean, I coded- technically it isn't really a- um-"

He blushed furiously, knitting his eyebrows together and clenching his fists.

Why though? This was pathetic. Why did it have to be so awkward? To just say-"

 _"Yes._ It's for you. I made it for you."

The blue of the fifteen year old's eyes shined, as they opened wide, overwhelmed.

"You made it for me?" He repeated again. His voice somehow went about seven octaves higher, the surprised tone echoing in Tony's ears as he just stared at him in disbelief.

"Well, it's not any use to me," Tony said gruffly. "She can't do much at the moment. Nothing, actually- though I put some basic phrases in when I first tested her voice, if you say draft 1-"

"Draft 1," Peter cut in loudly, his eyes twinkling and a childish grin etched across his face.

“Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.” 

The voice was just as soft, collected, clear- but it spoke with such sincerity and passion, and the moment the words rung into the air, Peter's whole face lit up like a Christmas tree. 

"Oh my god- that's from Star Wars- you've made an AI that quotes Star Wars?? How do you even know I like Star Wars??? YOUR AI JUST QUOTED PRINCESS LEIA!"

The pure joy in his voice was the most relaxing, rewarding thing he'd ever heard.

"I do my research," He shrugged simply. "If research means finding the Star Wars cards inside your Spider-Man suit. And yeah- I did, I'm also programming her to understand and pick up on millennial humour and language- she can already say 'dope,' but I'm not even sure that's a thing anymore, though I should probably know- I'd say I've got 'street cred'-"

Suddenly, Tony was cut off by the star-struck teen colliding with him, his arms wrapping quickly around Tony's mid-section. He took a sharp intake of breath- Peter had ducked down to give him... a hug. He felt the boy's warmth radiating from his suit, and his face that pressed against his chest, breathing heavily.

Shit.

Did he do it right.? Was it good? Was it enough for Peter? Fuck- he was suppose to be a fucking genius, but there had never been so many unanswered questions spinning round his mind-

"Do you know what a hug is, Mr Stark?"

The muscles in his face tightened as Peter's muffled voice came from pressed against his chest. That little shit.

"You're gonna have to watch that mouth."

Even so, he sighed as Peter's grip on him loosened and the boy nervously showed signs of pulling away. He lifted his arms, and ignoring the queasy feeling in his stomach and his thoughts shouting at him, he wrapped them around Peter, pulling him back into him, his hands steady against his small back. He didn't do it often- and he didn't really know how long a socially acceptable hug was, but he didn't move. He kept him held close, not too tightly- but enough to feel the boys heart thrumming by him. 

"Don't call me Mr Stark," he mumbled after a while, his voice gravelly. "Makes me feel old. And like my dad."

"M'kay," Peter said, muffled in reply. 

It was then Tony found out that hugs weren't just a quick polite gesture- Peter was definitely not showing signs of letting go. It may have been the gesture he wanted. Physical comfort from someone? Tony didn't really understand much. But he let it happen, sinking into the unfamiliar comfort of Peter's small frame.

There was silence before it was broken again.

"Thank you, Tony."

Tony wouldn't ever tell anyone- of course- but he hugged a little tighter.

"No problem, kid."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCHFOR WAITING. Chapters might be slow coming out for a while, but I managed to write this! AKA the origin of Karen in this fic. Leave a comment, tell me how I did :) Things are looking up quite a lot. ESPECIALLY since I'm seeing Infinity War on THursday! OPENING DAYFOR THE UK. It's going to be incredible. I hope you guys all enjoy it! And I hope I didn't let you down on this chapter :) THANKS FORSTICKING WITH ME


	20. Skin A Rabbit

When 8 o'clock came by, Tony didn't hesitate to insist they order pizza, and a fuck ton of it.

Peter wasn't blind- he knew that Tony wanted to look after him, and that made him happy. He smiled to himself as he watched the older man on the phone from down the hallway.

"Meat feast please. Large? Eh, make it beast. And a litre bottle of coke. Wait- kids like soda- make that two. Orange soda? Throw that in. Yeah."

When it had arrived, they'd sat down snug in the lounge on the couches, Peter on one end of the three- seater and Tony on the opposite end. Bruce sat across, helping himself to the giant box on the table in the middle. It was nice. Peter felt lighter than he had in days. The gym session had given him a new breath of fresh air, and he felt unfamiliar contentment seep into him through the consummation of pizza and talking about biology with Bruce.

They spoke and ate until they'd finished, and there was hardly any pizza left.

He was happy.

 

\----

"Anyone want a drink?"

It'd been a good twenty minutes after they'd demolished the whole pizza between the three of them- the work mostly done by Peter. His appetite had seem to have caught up with him. 

He sat on the couch feeling uncharacteristically bloated, and moaned slightly as he patted his flat stomach. 

"Ouch."

Bruce laughed. 

"I don't know where you put it. You're like a hoover. Just orange juice, please Tony."

Tony swivelled round dramatically from the kitchen area, shooting Bruce an evil look.

"Orange juice?? No-one else is here, it's basically a vacation- treat yourself Banner," He said, pouring himself a glass of a type of liquor of some sort. Peter wasn't really familiar with any of that. 

Bruce shook his head.

"Not in the mood. You know yourself out."

"Fair enough," Tony scoffed, putting the whiskey back on the shelf, then briefly scanning it again with raised eyebrows.

"Drink, Pete?"

Immediately, Bruce tensed, watching Tony suspiciously.

"He's NOT having any alcohol. None Tony."

"Oh come onn," The billionare whined. "His metabolism will probably just burn it off anyway. He can have some if he wants, just a little. He's 15, not 6. Peter?"

He bit his lip, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

"Erm... I don't know? Aunt May used to give me beer with lemonade in it on special occasions. Well. More Ben, she was a bit stricter." Somehow he smiled slightly at the memories- and when the image of May, her slender form, long dark hair and shining eyes came into his head, some unfamiliar positive feeling brewed next to the uncomfortable twist in his stomach. Especially more so thinking about Ben. He missed them. So much. So goddamn much.

"Right!" Tony replied, clapping his hands together with enthusiasm. "So, a shandy- I'll get you a shandy-"

He waited patiently as Tony cracked open a beer can from the fridge and poured a decent amount into a glass, topping the rest up with lemonade. 

"Ice?" Peter piped up hopefully.

Tony rolled his eyes. 

"So demanding. You don't even have ice with beer, who even are you-"

He gave him some anyway before returning and handing it to him with a wink.

"Ignore old man Brucey over there. He's just getting on."

"Pretty sure you're older than me," he mumbled in reply, accepting a glass of orange juice. 

Peter took a hesitant sip of the shandy- it was good, not too much beer so it didn't taste like shit- but enough to give it a bitter aftertaste that reminded him of Ben. He let the flavour sit on his tongue before deciding that shandy was good. Bubbles invaded his mouth and he relished in the cool sensation of the liquid running down his slightly sore throat.

And Ben wouldn't be disappointed that he was having a shandy with not him. Because Ben loved Peter.

He tried to think about that. Sometimes it was just too hard to not feel as if he was letting someone down.

Sipping it made him feel light headed. Not because of the alcohol going to his head- he'd never been drunk and he was pretty sure he'd never get to be due to his healing factor- but because he felt happy. He smiled to himself discreetly at the warmth in his stomach just watching Tony and Bruce natter and bicker. He absolutely revelled in how peaceful the atmosphere made him. 

They spoke for a while about stupid things until Tony pulled out Cards Against Humanity from a fancy cupboard somewhere. Bruce immediately protested.

" _Tony-_ "

"What?" Tony groaned. 

He'd been drinking his whiskey too fast- Peter would have assumed by the amount he drank that he'd have a higher tolerance for alcohol. Evidently not. His eyes were slightly red and his cheeks pink, and spoke with a slight slur to his gravelly voice. Despite, he still remained as composed as Tony usually was. 

"He's fifteen. It's just some naughty words,and the kids got thick skin. When I was fifteen I probably wasn't even a virgin, I'd at _least_ watched porn- Pete, have you watched porn? Shit, don't answer that..."

Peter held back a laugh as he hid his face behind his shandy, taking another nervous gulp. Bruce rolled his eyes heavily. 

"Right. I'm going to bed. Or at least to the lab- wherever you aren't," He gave a humoured side eye towards Tony who stuck up his middle finger at him. "You do what you want, he's your kid."

"He's not 'my kid'" Tony protested. He sighed in frustration.

"Hey," Peter piped up. "We can't play with only two people. We'll know who's put what because they'll only be the other one of us. 

"Na, the rage monster can go," Tony smirked as Bruce walked past, kicking his foot. "And you'd be surprised how hard it is. Well. When you've had half a bottle of whiskey..."

Bruce smiled at Peter from the doorframe.

"Night, Peter. Don't let him stay up too late."

He laughed.

"Don't worry, I won't."

Bruce winked before disappearing around the corner, leaving Tony and Peter opposite each other on the same couch, Tony haphazardly emptying the contents of the Cards Against Humanity box amongst the sauce packets and pizza box on the table. Watching Tony clumsily go about it made Peter fill with warmth. He wasn't going to lie to himself- the man had made him feel safe, at home, and this was the happiest he'd felt since May had...

He bit his lip as Tony reached across to his side to grab the deck of white cards. He could so easily just not be there. He could have been in a care home alone, with no-one who gave a shit about him, yet he was still with Iron Man, sat on his couch as if he'd lived there for years, about to play a stupid card game made for 4+ players with the billionaire he'd looked up to since we were eight. It was unreal.

He felt slightly giddy with gratitude as Tony handed him seven cards.

"Okay," he cleared his throat, sounding convincingly put together and thoroughly sober, though the near empty whiskey bottle on the table said otherwise. "You know how to play, right?"

Peter inferred that he'd been drinking throughout the day, for he couldn't have gotten that silly that fast. It made him nervous. But not a bad nervous. He knew he wouldn't hurt him.

"Yes," Peter replied amusedly, hiding behind his soft brown curls and trying not to meet his eye. He couldn't tale him seriously. How was this even going to work? "Me and Ned play it sometimes." 

"Sweet. Black card."

He picked a black card from the deck, squinting at it.

"BLANK. High five, bro."

Peter shuffled through the cards in his hands, wondering how much he could get away with. Though Tony wasn't like his dad or anything anyway- it wasn't really a big deal. In the end, after giggling at a few options- he picked a fairly innocent one, and put it on the table in front of him.

"Has everyone put there answers down?" Tony asked grandly.

"Yeah. I think so," He smiled.

"Great. 'Chainsaws for hands. High five, bro.' Okay that's pretty good- haha, no, that's really clever."

His face split into a grin, his dark eyes going all squinty and wrinkles making his face shine somehow. It made Peter a little sad, seeing how happy he could be every day- but instead he was pushed down with the weight of the world. He chuckled a big, hearty chuckle.

"This one is my favourite. Since it appears to be the only card here. Was it Bruce's.? No, wait- he's gone to bed. Must be young Parker's, here."

"Thanks," he laughed, accepting the winning card from the older man.

"Your turn."

He reached over to pick the top card from the black deck, and read it aloud. 

"What do old people smell like?"

He stole a glance at Tony as he laughed again under his breath, pulling out a card from his pack. He took a dainty sip from his glass before placing it dramatically on the middle of the seat in front of them.

"What do old people smell like?... The primal, ball-slapping sex your parents are having right now..."

Peter spluttered, shooting a dark look at Tony, who seemed to find the whole ordeal much more amusing than it actually was his cheeks flushed pink as he held his stomach to stop the laughter.

"Ha ha. I'm such a bad person."

"You are, I'm too innocent," Peter agreed, raising his eyes at the cards in his hand he could have used in response to that question- 'two midgets shitting into a bucket' or 'paedophiles'. Both were good options. 

"Also," he added, "My parents are dead. So I guess that's the upside of having dead parents. You don't hear that."

Tony laughed out loud again, almost spilling his drink.

"One wouldn't think there'd be an upside to dead parents."

"I didn't, until you read out that card," Peter smirked- even though the topic had been so untouchable in the past. Even then, with his parents gone, and May and Ben gone too- somehow it was still funny, watching Tony shake his head in despair. 

"Hey, my parents are dead too."

"They are?"

"Yeah," Tony said conversationally, shuffling his cards absent mindedly. "Murdered. But sadly, they didn't die early enough to spare me of hearing their primal ball-slapping sex."

Peter felt bad for smiling. He knew Tony was joking- but deep down he couldn't get the thought out his head, and started to wonder if Tony really didn't like his parents. He seemed like he grew up with everything he could have wanted, including perfect parents.

He sighed, resting his head on the back of the couch.

"You know, I'd do anything to have my parents back," He mumbled eventually. He didn't really know where is came from- it got Tony's attention quick, a pair of soft brown eyes flicking to Peter's as he fiddled with the cards in his hands. "Even if that meant hearing them having sex through the walls. Wait- ah, shit- that came out really wrong, I was just trying to continue the analogy... ah, screw it."

Tony let out an amused chuckle before running a hand over Peter's small shoulder. Peter blushed, rolling his eyes at himself.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. It sucks. I'm sorry, Peter."

It was one of the first times Tony had properly, sincerely used his first name. It made him smile, and the situation he was in sat with Tony in the warm lounge made the deep ache of sadness numb more, and the new sensation of content enveloped him instead. 

He liked this.

They continued for at least an hour- laughing at each others picks, quipping shit jokes back and fourth and talking about bits of their life they hadn't told each other about. They only slowed down when Peter's eyelids began to droop, and he felt genuinely sleepy.

"We should sleep."

"Yeah," Tony nodded. "We should. I'll clean this up in the morning- don't worry about it."

As they rose from the couch, Tony stumbled to the left, losing his balance momentarily and falling into Peter's side. The teenager caught him with his shoulder, supporting his weight with ease due to his spider-strength, though knocking the wind out of him with the unexpected blow.

"Sorry-"

But Tony seemed so unsteady as he attempted to rise again, so Peter scrambled quickly for his arm, hooking it over his shoulder and reaching around his waist.

"It's okay Mr Stark, I got you."

"Fuck," Tony laughed shakily. "Been a while since I've literally not been able to stand. And don't call me fucking Mr Stark. Yeah?"

"Sorry," Peter said meekly, as he attempted to guide them towards the hallway. "It's just habit. I guess."

"Get out of it," Tony replied with a shine in his eye. "It's okay. Sorry. It's kind of sweet."

He tried to ignore the furious blush that invaded his cheeks, but he found it hard to as Tony's words rippled through him like magic dust. He wasn't a kid, he wasn't a child- but somehow he didn't mind Tony speaking as if he were one, calling him sweet. Ay least he seemed to like him. Maybe he'd keep him longer than he'd thought.

They approached Tony's room near the end of the corridor, easy to access due to the fancy automatic doors. Peter managed to squish in the doorway sideways with Tony still supported by his shoulder.

"Bedtime," He whispered softly. He felt proud. Happy that for once, he didn't feel vulnerable and defeated and weak. For the first time, he was the one looking after Tony. When Tony didn't reply straight away, he unhooked the man from around his neck and lowered his steadily onto his bed. The whole room was pretty messy- strewn with clothes, yet at the same time it looked incredibly unused, every surface empty and there were no wrinkles in his sheets as evidence that any sleeping had occurred. 

Sleep tugged at Tony's face, and he blinked up slowly to look at Peter before sighing softly, and starting to fall back into the comfy confines of his bed. 

"Wait wait- don't you want to get out of your clothes..?"

Peter quickly stopped him from falling by gripping his shoulder.

"Tired."

"Yeah, I know," He mumbled in response, sighing to himself. Nervously, he tugged loosely at Tony's shirt, watching him expectantly. "Can you just lift your arms up?" 

Tony shot him a sleepy, drunken, quizzical look before complying, lifting his arms into the air as if he were a child taking orders from his mother.

"There you go. Arms up, skin a rabbit." 

"Why the fuck would you want to do that," Tony grumbled lowly.

"It's an expression. Aunt May used to say it to me," he explained shortly, tugging his shirt up from the bottom all the way over his shoulders and arms until it was off. "There you go."

For half a second he considered how uncomfortable it must be to sleep in jeans, but Peter immediately refrained from going that far. That was where the line was crossed.

Besides, Tony's head had already hit the pillow with a thump, and Peter realised the alcohol wasn't the only thing making him so delirious- it was also his extreme lack of sleep. He looked asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, and Peter stood for a moment just watching his chest rise and fall at a steady rate.

"Thanks for looking after me," he mumbled shyly. Softly he took the duvet and covered Tony with it, covering him to the shoulders. He stirred slightly.

"Love you."

Peter was 87% sure he'd misheard. He did a double take as the words left Tony Stark's mouth faster than Peter's brain could interpret them. He blinked, the hot sensation rippling through his stomach comfortably. 

He turned to leave, standing at the doorway for a fraction of a second to watch the peeking emergent of brown tousled hair rise and fall with the rest of his body, a smile stretching across his face.

It couldn't be.

Not really. It couldn't be like this. He'd never have thought.

Yet it seemed it was like it.

"Love you too." He mumbled softly into the peaceful silence, before switching the light off and leaving Tony to his dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Exams are nearly over so I should be updating more soon :) This chapter was probably written really badly, I feel like it was badly paced I'm sorry for that, what are your thoughts? I love getting your comments, tell me how I did with this chapter below, what was good about it, what I can do better, and also some things you want to see in upcoming chapters :)) I really hope I got through lots of dad vibes. thanks for reading guys, have a splendid day <3


	21. Handsome Young Man

"What happened last night?"

Tony scratched his head which felt like it might pop out of his skull. He blinked at Bruce from the doorway, looking at the other man who was perfectly composed, sipping a mug of tea and his legs curled up on the couch beside him. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, flinching at the ache in his head.

Bruce just looked up with bright, knowing eyes.

"He told me he had to tuck you in because you were too drunk to stand."

Ah. Fucking great. 

Tony sniffed, folding his arms and getting unnecessarily defensive. Then he stopped for a moment, hashing out the situation. He let his arms drop to his sides and his shoulders untense.

"Right. That was nice of him."

Bruce only smiled. 

"Yes. Yes it was."

Tony despised letting Bruce be so awkwardly triumphant about that-but he just huffed, turned away and left Bruce to his smug self to get changed. Inwardly, he felt really pleased that the kid would help him like that. Then again, he also felt extremely embarrassed about the whole situation, and cursed himself for letting himself get that pissed. Ah, man. Hopefully Peter would forgive him. He groaned.

 

\----- 

The day went by smoothly enough. Mostly Peter kept himself to himself, though Tony knew he was feeling much better than he usually was. His eyes shined that bit brighter and he spoke more, and he ate more at lunch too. It made Tony extremely relieved to see him getting along so well. He knew nothing was perfect, though. He definitely didn't believe the kids quiet "yeah, it was fine," when he asked Peter about how he slept. He assumed another nightmare. He just hoped he hadn't had another panic attack and slept through FRIDAY's alarm. He really would have hated himself for doing that.

The events (that he couldn't quite remember) that had unfolded the night before had left him feeling embarrassed and foolish. The whole situation was ridiculous. He sat as the clock struck 12pm, tapping on the glass of water in his hand tiredly, hating himself for being so weak and mindless. He had made sure to not have any alcohol at all that day, as if that would somehow make everything okay again. He knew he needed to stop. He knew how much it was fucking him up. It had just never seemed to matter until he realised it could affect Peter.

He couldn't even remember what he did, that was the stupid thing. Tony's mind immediately went to the worse place, picturing himself like Howard, loud and angry, seeing Peter in his head sat watching him with anxiety in his eyes from the corner of the room. But didn't know WHY he was thinking like that, He wasn't an angry drunk. He just had a talent of assuming the worse of things. 

So it couldn't have been that bad... right?

From the look on Bruce's face he supposed not. Bruce's smug mug made it seem like he'd tripped over on the stairs and accidentally signed the adoption papers as he fell. He snorted. 

_Okay. Cut on the drinking. I need to get my head in the game. Less than a week before everyone gets back and I need to sort out what's happening with Peter._

He knew he couldn't look after a kid. There was no doubt about it. Natasha was right. He was being ridiculous just stalling- keeping him would only make things worse. He needed to find him a safe place he could be loved and cared for by someone else. It was the right thing to do. Someone that wasn't him... 

He could already feel it. The longer he kept Peter even in his range of sight, the more he liked the kid. 

He had to let go of these feeling. He had to think about Peter.

No more bonding time. No more funny business. No more dad comments from his stupid friends. Time to secure this kid an actual future. 

No days out, no more takeaways and no fancy dinners.

He couldn't stay there forever. He couldn't let himself get anymore attached to that kid.

\-----

At 6 o'clock that evening, Tony had decided to take Peter and Bruce out for a fancy dinner.

"You have to be joking, Tony."

He folded his arms indignantly, glaring at Bruce.

"What?"

"I'm not going! I'm not interrupting you and your kid's bonding time."

He could have thrown himself out of a window.

"It's NOT bonding time," he hissed, narrowing his eyes. "It's- it's just food, I'm hungry- and he needs to be out and- and stuff-"

"It really is," Bruce groaned. He threw his head back in despair against the back off the couch, looking at Tony from upside down. There was humour in his expression, his eyes twinkled with amusement, and Tony knew he was just having the time of his life being right about everything. 

"Look," Bruce sighed, pursing his lips. "You are either giving him away or keeping him. Your whole attitudes tells me the former, but you're just so unreadable I can't tell what you want! You clearly want to look after this kid, so just ACCEPT this is bonding time and take him or don't bother. Don't rise his hopes just to let him down when you sort this out and put him in a care home." 

Oh, he was so right that it hurt.

Tony sighed, running a hand through his tousled brown hair. "Look," he began steadily, and quietly in hope Peter didn't hear, "I know I can't keep him. I'm not the right person. I don't want to let him down in the end, but he knows this can't be permanent. I'm just making sure he stays optimistic. The kid needs to have fun."

Bruce just slowly shook his head.

"I gotta trust you, Tony. It's good you want to make him happy. You do what you like, dinner sounds really nice- but you can count me out."

He raised his eyebrows despairingly at the doctor.

"Really?"

"Really."

He didn't know what else to do. The only thing he did know was that he wanted to make Peter happy.

He folded his arms with a huff. He supposed that's exactly what he'd have to do.

"Fine. I'm taking him anyway. It's your loss if you don't want to come."

Bruce just smirked with those stupidly friendly ass eyes.

"Sure it is."

\----- 

"This one should be more your size. C'mere."

Tony motioned the teenager to the full length mirror in the wall, pulling him in front of him firmly. With a satisfied look, the held a shirt up to his chest, looking into the reflection decisively. 

"Good?"

Peter didn't exactly say no to dinner- so Tony decided that was probably a good thing. He'd hesitated on where to actually take him- the kid probably didn't get out too often, and he didn't want to overwhelm him with somewhere really unfamiliar. However, if he took him to your bog standard street diner like KFC then they'd be seen. Which meant press. Which meant unwanted attention and a whole lot of media and rumours that would upset Peter more than ever.

He decided to stick with his usual, an extremely fancy restaurant in comparison to McDonalds- in comparison to anything, really. Good security- Tony could always rely on an easy get away without any paparazzi showing up. The type of people who went there were usually just as famous as each other, so no-one was likely to make a giant fuss. He couldn't really pretend- it would probably be intimidating for Peter, but at least it would be a new experience.

To give the kid an idea of how fancy it was, he took him into his room to look through his wardrobe of thousand dollar suits for one small enough to fit him.

Peter looked at himself wide eyed in the reflection. Tony stood behind him, a hand round the front of the teens shoulders, holding up a white shirt with detailing around the collar and made out of a material as delicate as a feather and fit for a king. Which was slightly ironic, since Tony was no king. Peter looked oddly out of place with the shirt draped over him, his waves tousled and knotted and scraped back in a mess over his forehead, a ghost of a toothpaste smudge on his cheek and looking as skinny as ever.

"Good? Yes, no?"

"Er- yes. I mean, it looks a little big."

Tony took another glance at it, sniffing.

"It should be fine. Put on those pants."

He pointed to the bed where the dress pants he picked out were, un-creased and expertly folded. Mainly because Tony had never touched them. 

He turned his back on the bed as Peter obliged and changed into the garments. He went to button up his own shirt fully as he listened to the rustle of him changing into the trousers that were a size too big for the kid and the shirt that he actually wore quite a lot to extravagant parties or dinners. He wasn’t too fussed over how he dressed, but if they went underdressed he knew unwanted attention would most likely be drawn to them. 

“Done.”

Tony turned back around to see him dressed, the trousers not even too big. The shirt wasn’t even too long, just slightly in the sleeves- but his shoulders and chest nearly filled it out fine. Tony wasn’t really surprised, he wasn’t exactly the biggest of people either.

He took a step forward with a smile. He brushed his shoulder and looked him up and down again, smirking at his hair which was still looking wildly untameable. 

“Great. Slip on the blazer- oh, I should probably get you a tie.”

“Okay.”

He shot him a sympathetic look before looking through a drawer. 

“Sorry this might seem a bit over the top. It’ll just help repel any attention if you blend in.”

Peter shook his head as he buttoned up the cuff of his sleeve.

“No no, it’s okay. I don’t mind. I just don’t know if suits are really my thing… I’m not much of a ‘looker’- not a Tony Stark or anything…”

He laughed nervously, and Tony frowned. He doubted he’d be able to find a kid as smart as Peter, yet what he was saying seemed to make no sense to him. He hit him lightly on the shoulder with the blue tie he’d picked out, giving him a stern look as his sheepish brown eyes looked back at him.

“Hey, none of that. You look very pretty in a suit- or handsome if you will- ew, gender assigned adjectives, am I right? And in anything else for that matter. I don’t know who’s been telling you lies.”

He smirked at the small reaction his words had on Peter- the boy’s cheeks flushed pink and a ghost of a smile danced on his lips. He looked like he might protest until Tony cut him off-

“Can you tie a tie?”

“Er- no, I have never had to.”

“We’ll save that for another day,” Tony sighed. The idea of him teaching Peter how to tie a tie was so painfully domestic that Clint probably wouldn’t drop it for months. He couldn’t shake the idea though. He mentally made a note on his list of things to do with Peter.

He got to work tying his tie, stepping up to him purposefully and folding his collar up. He could see how flustered Peter had suddenly gotten- he could see his eyes jumping around, afraid to make awkward eye contact, his cheek full of colour and his hands tense at his sides. But he seemed happy. He chuckled to himself. If all he had to do to make Peter feel happy about himself was to shower him with compliments then heck, he’d spend every breathing moment doing just that. 

A few comfortable moments of silence passed before Pete spoke hesitantly.

“May used to say I was handsome. Y’ know- she used to say stuff, all the time, and Ben. ‘You’ll be breaking girls hearts when you’re older.’ But it’s funny, because they were the only people that said it.”

Tony hooked onto Peter’s every word as he looped the tie over itself. This was good. He initiated a conversation about his dead aunt and uncle- this was good, right? He stayed quiet, hoping Peter would take it as an invitation to continue.

“Parents kinda have to say it,” He said slowly, watching the floor. “Because they love you. But then it doesn’t really matter what anyone else thinks because you trust them. So you sort of believe it, then they aren’t there and you don’t hear it… and you don’t realise how much you really DID need it…”

Tony noticed his eyes becoming glassy as he straightened the material and tugged, finishing it and laying it flat against Peter’s chest. His heart rate against the palm of Tony’s hand had quickened slightly, and he let out a deep, rattling breath. Oh man. Tony hated how he felt like that. He felt his chest swell with a deep sympathy for the poor kid, and he felt the need to do something… say something… anything?

“Hey. Look at me.”

Peter blinked, his shining eyes rising to watch Tony’s face before falling back away to the floor. Tony knew he felt embarrassed. He rested a hand on his shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze of what he hoped was somewhat affection. He exhaled.

“I get how you feel like that. But listen- no matter what you think of yourself, or what other people say at school or don’t say at all- that doesn’t matter. People like May and Ben matter.”

“I know,” he whispered under his breath, voice slightly gravelly, but his eyes slowly coming up to meet meekly with Tony’s. “But I’ll never hear them say it again.”

His heart gave a jolt and he felt like he’d swallowed a stone. He watched the teenager with amazement, wondering how someone who was worth so much could be so sad. He sniffed, tightening his grip and bringing his other hand up. With a stern look, he took Peter’s face carefully in his hands, cupping both cheeks firmly so he had no choice but to look at the older man. 

“Then you can hear me say it,” he said simply. “You are a handsome young man, and I’m extremely proud of you. May and Ben are too.”

Tony’s darker, scarred, rough, slightly tanned skin in contrast to Peter’s own, bright, unmarked and youthful, was another stab in the chest for Tony- a reminder of how much he’d lost at so young. Everything sucked. Everything sucked so bad. 

But somehow, Peter still smiled. A genuine, bright small accompanied with a small sniff, and Tony was surprised, but felt accomplished when he felt the younger man’s hand reach up to pat his own resting on his face momentarily. 

“Thank you Mr- Tony. Thanks Tony.”

Tony drew his hands back, patting his shoulder once with a smile on his lips. 

“No problem, kid. And you better believe me. Now, let's go fuck up buffet."

 

Oh God. Was that okay? Did he do it right...? Yes? No? 

 

Fuck.

 

He was so not cut out to be a dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IS TONY CUT OUT TO BE A DAD? I hope you enjoyed all that fluff. I'm really proud of this! Leave a comment with any criticism at all, and what you liked about this chapter! I loved writing this. I think you can tell Tony' gonna have a hard time letting Peter go. Thanks so much for reading, catch you later my dudes <3


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